I'm the Man Who Loves You
by Lynzee005
Summary: AU - One Assistant Regional Manager. One receptionist. Throw in a few confessionals, a jealous ex-fiance, and Dwight Schrute, and you have a recipe for one helluva wacky fledgling relationship. **COMPLETE**
1. Prologue Part 1

**A/N: I feel like I should write "Long time reader, first time poster" or something like that... actually I've been writing fanfic for a while now, on all sorts of subjects, but this is my first crack at "The Office". The usual disclaimer applies. I own very little of this fanfic. The first part is taken from the beginning of Season 3 Episode 1 ("Gay Witch Hunt"); some dialogue later on is taken from Episode 5 ("The Initiation"). Also, the bold phrases next to the month indicators are lyrics taken from the song "Intuition" by Feist.**

**The Prologue is written in two parts because it's just too big for one chapter. Combined, Parts 1 & 2 encompass the year in between Casino Night and the start of Season 4, but with some slight changes. Pam never tells Roy about what happened on Casino Night, so he finds out about Jim and Pam in another way later on. It focuses mainly on plot points relating to Jim and Pam and not much else from those episodes. Keeping that in mind, I hope you enjoy!**

**Listen to the soundtrack at www. playlist. com/ node/ 34686013  
**

* * *

**May**

**And It's Impossible to Tell…**

Jim: (_pulls away from Pam after kissing her_) You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.

Pam: Me too. (_Pause_) I think we're just drunk

Jim: I'm not drunk. Are you drunk?

Pam: No. (_Jim goes in for a second kiss, but she stops him_) Jim–

Jim: (_Looking at her, softly_) You're really gonna marry him?

(_Pam nods_)

Jim: (_cont'd_) Okay… (_He lets go of her hands and walks away_)

--

_Dunder Mifflin office. Friday night._

_It's late. Jim is packing up his supplies – a Dundie from his desk drawer, a well-loved Jell-O mold, his yogurt lid medal from the Office Olympics – from off his desk and putting them in a box on the floor. _

Jim: (_V.O._) Yeah, I'm leaving for Australia today, then I'm off to Stamford. I'll be Assistant Regional Manager, and the only thing that makes me happy about it is that it's one more thing I can rub in Dwight's face every time I talk to him from now on.

_He roots through Dwight's desk and lifts a few sheets of paper from a drawer; Dwight's stationary. He picks up the box and puts it on his now empty desk, then takes a Post-It from off the top and quickly scribbles something down before sticking it to the computer monitor. Camera zooms in to read: _Dear Incumbent:Enjoy your new desk mate, Dwight. Don't worry, he's harmless. J Halpert.

Jim: (_cont'd_) Why? Well they offered me a better job, with better pay, in a beautiful city where I can eat all the soft-shelled crab I want. I'll be far enough away from Michael Scott that perhaps I'll regain my sanity. (_Pause_) Plus, I really just need to put as much distance between me and… well, you were there… .

_He walks across the office, turns around and seems to say goodbye to the darkened cubicles. Then he walks up to reception, slowing down considerably, and runs a free hand along the countertop. He pauses for a long time, looking down at the computer, the chair, imagining his favourite person sitting there. He smiles faintly, then turns around and walks out the door._

_The camera cuts to the airport, where Jim is preparing to take his flight. Jim is standing in the ticket queue, in khaki shorts and a breezy white polo. He has a backpack on his shoulder and is holding onto the handle of a large suitcase._

Jim: I'm not running away. (_Pause. He looks down at his shoes_) Honestly, if I had to spend the next month sitting six feet away from the woman I loved, knowing full well that she was going to marry someone else… and then while she was off on her honeymoon… with _him_… (_Pause_) Maybe I am running away. I don't care, I just can't stay here.

--

_Dunder Mifflin office. Monday morning_

_The lights come on, one row at a time. Pam enters the office, the first one to arrive. She turns on her computer and yawns, putting away her coat, and sits down. She looks around the empty room, scanning past Jim's desk before realizing that it looks different. Everything is gone. Her shocked expression betrays her feelings. The camera comes in close and Pam doesn't notice. She hears her computer start up and hurries to check her email. After a lengthy pause, she puts a hand to her mouth._

Pam: He just up and left? (_Pause_) To Stamford? (_Pause. She acknowledges the camera with a smirk_) This is a prank right? Dwight's behind this. (_She reads_) "As you are all probably well-aware, I'm off to Australia to soak up the rays and practice my surf technique. What you don't know is that I won't be returning to Scranton. I've been offered the Assistant Regional Manager position at Stamford, and I will begin my work there upon my return. I know that this is a rather informal way of announcing my departure, but given the time constraints and how quickly everything happened, this was the best way. I hope you all understand. Have a fabulous summer. If you're ever in Connecticut, look me up. Sincerely, Jim" (_Pause. Pam returns her gaze to the camera_) Jim would never do this. (_She looks back to the screen; the camera comes around to look at what she's looking at. It's a new email, from Jim's personal email address. Pam clicks on it and a lengthy letter appears. The camera zooms in on the screen and captures the whole letter. It reads_:)

_Dear Pam,_

_I'm sorry I had to leave like this. I just had to get away, sort things out on my own. You'll be fine, I promise. You're marrying Roy and you'll have the life you want. By the time I get back, you'll have forgotten all about me, and what happened that night. That's why I'm leaving too, to try and forget. Not that I want to forget it, necessarily. There's nothing I want to forget. But I need to get past this and I can't be around you and hope to accomplish that. This isn't a punishment; I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything like that. I'm just looking out for myself._

_I just wanted you to know, one more time, that I love you – have loved you – from the first, and that nothing has changed. I'm not mad that you chose Roy. He's your fiancé, I have no problem with that. It's just that sometimes, I wonder what it would have looked like, if you could choose me instead, and I couldn't ignore that anymore. Maybe explaining things will help, but maybe that's too much information for you, and if that's the case, I'm sorry for that as well. I just wanted you to know. I needed you to know._

_I really do hope your wedding is beautiful, and everything you wanted in a wedding._

_Your friend always,_

_Jim_

(_Pam stares at the screen. She lifts one hand to her face, brushing a tear away_)

In the boardroom, a few minutes later. Pam's eyes are bleary as she addresses the camera.

Pam (_talking head_): You know what the real kicker is? (_Pause_) I called off the wedding on Saturday.

(_She sits motionless for a long while, before putting her face in her hands and crying_).

--

**October**

**How Important Someone Was…**

Michael (talking head): Do I miss Jim? (_Pause_) Well I don't _not _miss Jim. (_laughs to himself_) If I missed Jim, would that mean that I didn't appreciate Ryan? Because Ryan is doing a bang-up job. He had some big shoes to fill. (_Pause_) No, literally, Jim forgot his basketball shoes in the break room and there was a lunch hour a few weeks ago when we were going to have another basketball game, and Ryan left his shoes at home, so he used Jim's. Jim was a tall guy and Ryan is like… well, needless to say… . (_Pause_) I'm still grateful to Jim for leaving because it freed Pam up for the rest of us, so (_Laughs again, awkwardly. Is silent for long pause_)… well, okay, if you're going to get technical… .

--

_Later that day…_

Dwight (talking head): Fact. I have tripled my productivity since Jim left for Stamford. I don't think that's a coincidence. He cramped my style. One of us had to go. It's a testament to the indomitable Schrute strength and willpower that he left before I did. He was weak. If they're going to close any branch now, it'll be Stamford because his weakness is their problem now, not ours. When that happens, Jim will be… (_pause_) well he won't necessarily have to come back here if that happens… . Besides, we already have an Assistant Regional Manager –

Michael: (off camera, quietly) Assistant to the Regional Manager, Dwight… .

Dwight: (looks sheepishly at the camera) It could be worse. At least I'm not Jim.

--

_Still later…_

Pam (talking head): Yeah, it's nice to have my own place. I literally went straight from living with my parents to living with Roy, so I've never lived alone before. It's nice. (_Pause. Camera zooms in slowly on Pam's ring finger, which she covers with her other hand_) We're still dating, but we're not engaged. I needed some space and Roy has been gracious enough to grant me that. And I'm doing really well in my art class. Things are… surprisingly good. (_Pam nods silently, but doesn't seem convinced_). I haven't talked to Jim, no. (_She sighs after a long pause_)

--

_That afternoon, in Stamford…_

Jim (talking head): Things are fine. I'm doing better than I thought, but it's easy without the… distractions (_Pause_) No, I don't mean… I meant Michael and Dwight, and all the other stuff in Scranton. Which reminds me… (_Jim swivels in his chair and grabs a pen and paper from his desk_) I have to phone Kevin about our fantasy football league. (_He picks up the phone and starts dialling, but his fingers hover over the keypad_) I forget Kevin's extension. I hope someone is still there (_He checks his watch and finishes dialling the Scranton office number. The phone rings once, barely audible to the camera, before a female voice can be heard: "Dunder Mifflin…"_) Uh… hey… hi… sorry, I forgot Kevin's extension. It's a fantasy football thing… . (_He looks at the camera and smiles, then settles into his chair a bit more comfortably_)

--

_Scranton, in the parking lot, a few minutes later…_

Pam: (_Smiles a little_) All in all, I'd have to say that this was one of the better days. (_Pause, smile again, a little wider_) Yeah. A good day.

_She waves goodnight and goes off to her car._

--

**December**

**And What You Might Have Missed Out On…**

Michael (talking head): (_singing_) "It's comin' on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees…" (_pauses to laugh_) Well it's not technically a Christmas song, but still… puts me in the mood every time. (_Laughs awkwardly, then grows silent_)

--

Jim (talking head): I've only been back in Scranton for a month, and already Michael has managed to fire or compel a resignation from all but two of my Stamford co-workers who transferred with me after the merger. (_Pause_) We did get to meet "Prison Mike" though, so really, in the end, maybe it was worth it.

--

Pam: Is it awkward having Jim back in the office? Not really. I mean, it's a little strange. I haven't seen him since the casino… which was the whole reason he left in the first place right… but it seems he succeeded in getting past what he needed to get past, because he seems happy with Karen. (_Pause. She looks away from the camera and, a few seconds later, stands up and exits the room, visibly shaken_)

--

_The cameras find Jim as he walks over to the reception desk._

Jim: (_to Pam_) Hey I… uh… well I have something for you. (_He lifts up a small bag from in front of him. It is white with a pale blue ribbon tying the handles together – hardly Christmas themed at all) _I know it's late, and I know I couldn't be there, but I wanted to get you something anyway, and then I couldn't find the right time to give it to you since I've been back, so I figured I'd just combine it with Christmas and… well here (_he hands her the bag)_.

Pam: (confused) Gosh, Jim. I don't have anything else to give you.

Jim: (leaning on the reception desk) Oh, don't worry about it. I just wish Roy were here, 'cause it's kinda for both of you.

Pam: (even more confused) Uh, Jim… (she pulls the tissue paper out of the top of the bag and then reaches in to pull out a photo frame)

Jim: You're not gonna believe me, but I actually had that made for you when I was in Australia. (He points to the shells adorning the outside of the frame) I found the shells and a place that would put them together for me. I figured you could put a wedding photo in there or something. (He points to a pair of shells near the top, arranged to make a heart) That was a fluke, but it's a nice touch.

Pam: (smiling) Jim… Roy and I called off the wedding.

_The camera closes in on Jim's face, which registers confusion and embarrassment. He leans up on one arm._

Jim: You didn't…? I mean, I thought… .

Pam: No, we didn't get married (_she looks at the frame_) It's beautiful, really. It's so sweet of you.

_Jim looks at the camera, even more confused and embarrassed._

Pam: I thought you knew. I thought for sure somebody would have told you.

Jim: (_smiling awkwardly_) I was really bad at staying in touch. (_laughs) _So do I offer my un-congratulations now or what?

Pam: (_shrugging_) I don't know. (_She looks back at the frame_) Do I return this? We returned everything else.

Jim: No, you can keep it. I didn't get you a Christmas present, really, so… besides, it'll look better at your place than mine.

Pam: Thanks (_puts the frame in the _bag) I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner… .

--

Jim (_talking head_): Why _didn't_ she tell me? (_leans his cheek against his fist_) How could I have missed that?

--

Pam (_talking head_): (_She holds up the frame Jim gave her_) It's a really nice frame.


	2. Prologue Part 2

**Spring – And How He Might Have Changed It All…**

_Michael steps over to reception from his office_.

Michael: Pama-lama-ding-dong. The Pamster. Pammaroo. (_He looks over at the camera, laughs to himself, and then turns his attention back to Pam_) Any faxes?

Pam: No.

Michael: Okay. Hey, Pammy, I hear that you and Roy might still be planning a wedding after all.

_(The camera focuses on Jim, who is pretending to work but who is listening rather intently to the conversation. Karen is standing nearby, and catches Jim's expression. She rolls her eyes and walks back to her desk)_

Michael: (_cont'd_) Because you should just pay the guy doing Phyllis and Bob's wedding to do yours as well. A two-fer! Save money on the invites and decorations.

Pam: Michael, Roy and I… .

Michael: (_cont'd_) And we'd all be there already, and really, why party twice when you can party twice as hard once?

Pam: (_Increasingly _frustrated) Michael… .

Michael: I mean I know Phyllis' wedding is next week so it's kind of rushed, but you guys have been together for sooo long! You should just do it already! (_Pauses_) That's what she said! _(Laughs to himself)_

Pam: (loudly) Enough! (_The whole office turns to look_) Michael, Roy and I are not getting married. Not next week, not next month… maybe never. Okay?

(_Michael taps the reception desk a few times and looks awkwardly at the camera_).

Pam: (_cont'd_) Besides, I'm Presbyterian and Phyllis is getting married in a Lutheran church, so… .

Michael: (_after a _pause) Well there you go then. (_Pause. He turns around and starts to walk slowly back towards his office door_). Back to work people. Nothing to see here. (_He closes the door behind him_).

--

Karen (_talking head_): I don't understand Pam and Roy. They seem happy together. I mean, Pam's not getting any younger, right? _(Eyes the camera, looking slightly insecure, before straightening the collar on her jacket and smoothing our her pant leg)_

--

Jim (_talking head_): I try not to pry into things, but it does seem like a very "Will They or Won't They" scenario and I think it's taking its toll on people other than just Michael. It's confusing. After a while, you just ignore it. (_Pause_) I can ignore it fine. Just fine. (_Long pause_).

--

Pam (_talking head_): I didn't marry Roy because of Jim. Jim moved away. Jim came back with a new girlfriend. Now I'm not engaged and Jim might as well be. (_Pause_) It's funny how the roles are reversed now, isn't it? Except this time, it's so much more confusing because… well… Jim _told_ me he was in love with me. (_Pause_) I missed my chance, didn't I?

(_Camera focuses in over Pam's shoulder, through the blinds, as we see Karen standing outside the door. Her body language lets us know that she heard everything. She walks away)_

--

Karen (_talking head_): I wondered for a long time why Jim was acting weird. I honestly thought it was Dwight, and the fact that they were desk mates again. (_She shakes her head_) Now I know, and… _(pause)_ I don't think there's anything I can do about it.

--

**Summer – And How You Might Have Changed It All For Him…**

(_Michael and Dwight are staring out of the window in the conference room as Jim and Karen fight in the parking lot_)

Dwight: If they break up, one of them has to go.

Michael: (_scoffs_) Whaddyou talking about?

Dwight: The dominant personality will lay claim to the territory. Which means Jim will be gone. (_He glances back at the camera and smirks_).

Michael: Get out of here, Dwight. Where do you get your information from? Nobody is leaving Scranton.

Dwight: Just watch.

Michael: (_dejectedly_) I just hope they each pair off with someone else in the office. The sexual tension all these office romances have created is the only reason to get out of bed in the morning (_noticing the camera_) And… making sure Dunder Mifflin Scranton is the productive branch it is reputed to be.

Dwight: If Jim were struck by a bus, productivity would… .

Michael: Oh shut up, Dwight.

--

_The next day_

Jim (_talking head_): She broke up with me. And I can't say I'm surprised. And I'm not that upset. It feels like a weight has been lifted. I even bought a bagel for Dwight this morning. He threw it out because he said it smelled like rat poison, but the point is… I'm in a better mood today than I've been in over a year. _(Jim casually glances over his shoulder in the general direction of the reception desk; when he looks back, he has a smile on his face, and he looks down at his hands before flashing the grin to the camera)_

--

Pam (_talking head_): I knew something was different the moment I got the email from Jim suggesting that we only converse in song lyrics for today. He said we should do it every Friday and that there should be a new theme each week. Today is 80s day. (_She grins_) I hope the old Jim decides to stick around for a while.

(_Jim peeks his head in the door. Pam turns to look and the camera follows_).

Jim: Beesly, you hungry?

Pam: (_grinning_) Like a wolf, Jim.

Jim: (_grinning back_) Well…uh… I have run, and I've crawled, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for… for lunch.

Pam: (_laughing_) Well then Jim, I've got to meet you by today at noon and cut through all this red tape.

Jim: (_looks at the camera_) She's quick. (_Looking back to Pam and continuing her line_) At a bar called Poor Richards, where we'll plan our escape.

Pam: But only if you like pina coladas.

Jim: Beesly, as Sheena Easton once said, that information is for your eyes only. (_He grins and closes the door_)

(_Camera goes back to Pam, who stares after him, a smile on her face_)

--

**Fall – Did I Miss Out On You? **

(_Pam and Jim sit in the conference room_)

Pam: Once a year, Michael finds a holiday that nobody in the office celebrates and he teaches us about it so we can be more multicultural. This year, he's decided we should celebrate the start of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan by… (_she looks at Jim_)

Jim: …binge drinking at Poor Richards' after work. (_pause_) As far as I know, Ramadan is supposed be a month of sun-up to sun-down fasting, and I thought Muslims didn't drink, so… (_flashes a 'thumbs up' to the camera_) way to go, Michael.

Pam: (_laughing_) Let it be, Jim. Just let it be.

Jim: (_to the camera_) Today is Beatles day. (_To Pam_) Sometimes, Pam, it's really all too much for me to take.

Pam: Your mother should know.

Jim: My mother does know, as a matter of fact.

(_They grin at each other for a while until Pam hears the phone ring at her desk. She breaks eye contact, and runs out of the room to answer it_).

--

Pam: Roy and I are… iffy. I'm not sure what we are. When I called off the wedding, I gave him back the ring. (_She holds up her left hand to show the ring to the camera_) Last night, he gave it back. I don't want to do this again if I'm not sure, and I've been spending a lot of time with Jim, which makes me not sure about Roy at all. But Roy gave me a ring and if I don't wear it… (_pauses_) I just need to know. For sure. Somehow, I know I'll figure it out.

* * *

**A/N: After this, I hope to write the rest of the story in prose, without many more talking head bits and whatnot. Bear with me. Hope you like it so far!**


	3. My Addiction to the Worst of Him

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the song "Brandy Alexander" by Feist. The Prologue intertitles are all borrowed from the song "Intuition" by Feist. I wish I could claim credit for both songs, but sadly, I can't. They're just lovely and fit the theme of my story so well that I had to use them. They will come into play much more importantly later on, so keep posted!**

* * *

"Eid Mubarak, everybody!" Michael exclaimed, more to the cameras watching him than for the benefit of his employees, as he stepped out of the bar. Summer hadn't officially ended yet, but it had been everyone's experience that the day they turned their calendars over from August to September, the leaves painted themselves overnight and the mercury dropped to that cold, autumnal 60 degrees so radically different from the balmy 60 degrees that waits until April to greet them again. On this evening, a late Friday night in September, the cold, gusting wind made everyone shiver and pull their coats around them just a little tighter than they were used to. The employees of Dunder Mifflin Scranton huddled in a circle and hoped that their highly uninspiring boss would not launch into one of his diatribes, that they could just go home and turn the heat up for the first time since early spring and settle in for the rest of their Friday night.

Toby was the first to say something. "Eid isn't until… whatever," he just shook his head, thinking better of his decision to correct Michael's mistake.

Michael's face registered his disgust with the office HR rep. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, "God, Toby…," he stopped, making a choking sound with his throat before waving off his co-worker and turning to face the rest of the staff – and the cameras – for his moment of posturing, "Now that we have all been better educated about the customs of our Muslim brothers and sisters—" He was addressing the cameras now "—and had a rousing good time in their honour if I may say so, I hope that we can all look around and be more tolerant and accepting of those around us. Because, as the Dalai Lama said, 'When learning about tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher'." He looked pleased with himself and flashed a broad smile at those assembled around him.

Some people turned to look at one another in confusion but it was Jim who raised his hand. "Wait a minute… who's our enemy? I'm confused."

Michael cocked his head to the side, the reality of what he'd said slowly dawning on him. Stanley, sick of listening to Michael talk – and silently wondering why he'd waited so long to leave – shook his head and walked off to his car. The rest of the staff looked uncomfortable as Michael waved off the question, "I didn't mean it like that… I just… it's… ."

"Good night, Michael," Oscar said flatly, following Stanley's lead and walking off to his car. Angela followed next, her kitten heels clacking loudly against the pavement as she stalked off. Meredith ducked out without anyone really noticing, and went back inside to call a cab, while Phyllis and Bob Vance went off to their truck together after politely and quietly saying goodbye. Michael stood silently watching his fun Ramadan party disperse into the gusty September night.

"Sometimes you people are just too sensitive," he said, to no one in particular.

Toby kicked a pebble off the sidewalk and timidly rendered his reply. "Well Michael, you just called the adherents of the Muslim faith your enemies, so… ."

Michael started to say something but closed his mouth and shot a look of pure annoyance at the camera. Instead, he just shook his head and pretended to be admiring the stars.

Jim grinned and looked over at Pam, who was huddled between him and Roy and not paying attention to either of them. She was shivering from the cold, and her thin blue blouse was offering little, if any, protection from the wind. Jim looked up at Roy, who was too engrossed in his conversation with Darryl to notice, and then up at the cameraman. He knew that, on TV, his constant smirks didn't come across the way he meant them. Ninety-percent of the time, he was merely making sure that the documentary crew was actually filming what he was witnessing with his own eyes, because sometimes even he didn't believe what went on at the office. The other ten percent of the time – and this time fell into that latter category – he was looking for advice, silently, from the friendly face behind the lens. As if to say "Should I or shouldn't I?" Jim's face contorted into one of his oft-mentioned smirks, and after a moment he shrugged off his own suit jacket.

"Here," he said simply as he handed it to her.

Pam broke out of her reverie and looked over at him, blankly at first and then with a mixture of relief and surprise when she saw what he was offering. "Oh… thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. Seeing that she was hesitating to take the jacket in her own hands, Jim manoeuvred the coat around Pam's slender shoulders, letting it drop upon them before gently smoothing out the fabric by running his hand across her back, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. She shivered again. Jim lifted his fingers, feeling as though he'd been electrocuted; he shivered a little too.

The cameras were close on him, and he knew that someone else had seen the whole thing. He sometimes loved, and sometimes hated, the omnipresence of documentary crews in his working life. It was so hard to get privacy. He silently hoped that the whole scene would be left on the cutting room floor. The last person he needed to see it was Roy.

But it wouldn't have mattered. Roy glanced back at Pam and chuckled, "What's this, Halpert? Making a move on my girl?" He quickly tore Jim's coat off Pam and whipped his own around in its place, handing the jacket back to Jim without looking at him. "You cold, babe? Ask me next time."

_Pay attention next time, _Jim countered in his head, thinking better than to say it as he watched Pam smile at Roy. Jim accepted the coat and took a step back, "Okay, Roy."

"Don't look so grim. It was a joke."

Jim forced a laugh. Pam's expression of embarrassment stifled much of it.

Roy pulled Pam into his arms, "Pammy, Darryl scored tickets to the Flyers/Canadiens game tomorrow night."

"Really?" Pam asked excitedly, her face lighting up for the first time that night.

Roy was silent for a moment, "I didn't know you liked hockey." More silence. "Sorry babe. He got them for me and him to go."

"Sorry Pam, I didn't know," Darryl said. Jim believed Darryl's apology; Roy's sounded contrived and Jim fought hard not to roll his eyes, lest it give his eavesdropping away.

Pam said something inaudible under her breath, and she and Roy continued their conversation privately. Jim glanced awkwardly at the camera and shrugged his shoulders slightly without giving too much away to those who might be watching – still praying that the whole exchange would be cut out – and then pretended to be engrossed in the dissipation of the crowd.

"I'll get a ride from Angela, or maybe Phyllis and Bob can give me a lift." Pam angrily crossed her arms in front of her, "It's fine. Really. Enjoy yourself."

Roy smiled, obviously relieved of the chore of having to interrupt his evening to drive her home. He pointed to the Vance Refrigeration truck, which was pulling out of the parking lot, and slapped Pam on her backside, "You'd better hurry, babe, they'll leave you with no way home."

Jim saw it all, every blood-boiling moment. He squeezed his hand into a fist and then relaxed his fingers, shaking them out at his side. Pam turned and made a face, and tried to smile at Jim when she realized that he'd seen everything. He smiled back, gritting his teeth, and never took his eyes off her as she ran off to catch up with the truck, watching until the taillights' red glow disappeared into the inky blackness far down the street.


	4. Only a Real Man Can Be a Lover

**A/N: Strong language ahead -- this is where my story will start to get it's M rating. Chapter title borrowed from Sufjan Stevens' song "The Man of Metropolis Steals our Hearts", from the album _Come on Feel the Illinoise!_**

* * *

"God damnit!" Roy yelled suddenly, snapping Jim back to reality. "Pam has my cell phone!"

Jim didn't want to interfere, but he figured he should say something. "Uh, I think I heard her say that she forgot it on her desk."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" Roy clamped a hand down against his forehead, "Shit. I need my phone this weekend. Halpert, can you do me a solid?"

_Do me a solid? _Jim wondered to himself. _What year is this, 1986?_

"Depends."

"You've got a key to the office, right?"

Jim sighed reluctantly, knowing what was coming. He blinked slowly, regretting the words even as he said them, "Yeah, I have a key."

"Can you drive back with us and let me in to get it?"

He just wanted to go home and go to bed, and out of all the things he could do instead of that, driving with Roy to get his cell phone from Pam's desk was the very last thing on the list.

"Can't Michael take you?" Jim asked, "Or Dwight?"

Roy laughed, "Are you kidding?" He laughed again and then shook his head as he stepped closer to Jim, "Look, man, I'm serious, I need that phone. I don't want Pam to be the first one to read any text messages I might get over the weekend, if you catch my drift."

Jim felt his fist clench again as Roy implied his indiscretions. He silently wondered if Roy's cheating had been the reason for the nuptial postponement.

"Come on, Halpert. I'll owe you big time if you help me out just this once."

Jim wavered, and seeing no way out of the situation without offending the much bigger man in front of him, unenthusiastically nodded his assent and began to walk over to his car, leaving Michael and the cameras behind him in the dimly lit parking lot. He tried to think of ways to stall – forgetting his key? Flat tire? Previous commitment? – but none of it would work, and despite everything, he didn't want Pam to find the cell phone on her desk on Monday morning blinking with unread sexy messages from Roy's "other". Before he knew it he was pulling into the Dunder Mifflin parking lot, with Roy and Darryl pulling in behind him.

The cleaning crew was in, so when Jim opened the main door to the building, he loudly announced his presence and received a cordial greeting from the lady vacuuming the foyer in front of the elevators. Once upstairs, he unlocked the door to their office space and disarmed the security system.

"Where did she leave it?" Roy demanded.

Jim did not appreciate being ordered around, but even as the Assistant Regional Manager part of him bristled at the seeming insubordination of Roy's action, he reminded himself why he was there. "I don't know," he said, "she just said she forgot it."

Roy laughed, "You spend so much time up at reception with Pam I thought you'd have memorized the whole area by now."

Jim blushed and stepped aside, angry at his physical reaction to Roy's comment, and turned on the front area lights while Darryl and Roy stepped in and Roy began to rummage around Pam's desk. With nothing better to do, Jim went to help Roy look so they could leave.

In hindsight, Jim realized that he was infinitely glad he saw the papers first. No effort had been made to hide them or put them away safely, and though it was possible Roy would have passed right over it in his hasty disrespect for Pam's workspace, Jim didn't want to think about the consequences had Roy discovered them first. Still, as Jim came in around the side of the desk and took a closer look, saw what Pam had scrawled across the page, his stomach knotted. He wondered why – was it because of what was written, or was it because of who was standing two feet to his left? In between sketches of flowers and the hurried outline of a hand holding a pen – a hand Jim recognized as his own – Pam had doodled dozens of ways to write her married name. Some were in flowing handwriting, others were in bold block letters, but they all silently spoke Pam's dream of, one day, being Mrs. Jim Halpert.

Jim mentally photographed the page, smiling in spite of himself as he marvelled at the effortless way she seemed to connect her name to his over and over again. "Pam Halpert". "Pamela Halpert". "Pam and Jim". "Jim and Pam". "Pamela and James". "Mrs. Pamela Halpert". "Mr. and Mrs. Jim Halpert". Even "Mrs. Big Tuna", which she wrote once in comical bubble letters. Everywhere there was white space, Pam had found a way to write her name, and it left no room in Jim's mind for error. She wasn't imagining someone else's monogram. This was Pam's own girlish daydream, and it was about him.

"Whatcha got?" Roy asked, reaching for the paper.

Jim snatched it away, "Nothing, it's just… ."

"Seriously, give it here."

Jim stepped back into the space between Pam's cubicle and the one next to it, "Roy, it's nothing."

But Roy reached out and grabbed it, crumpling it in his pudgy fist before flipping it over to read. And then his eyes were on Pam's words. As if the moment were frozen in time, Jim seemed able to think through all the feelings he had about that fact: Roy's eyes reading Pam's words. Roy's ungrateful, cheating, lying, undeserving eyes all over Pam's page, a seeming piece of Pam right there in the office. It felt like rape, like Roy was raping Pam, right there in front of him, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the brutish warehouse worker and his dirty hands making unclean Pam's paper. Then he snapped back to reality, the reverie over, and stepped back as Roy began to comprehend what he was reading. Darryl, reading over Roy's shoulder, tried to take the paper away once he saw what had been written.

"Hey man, let's put it down," Darryl said.

Roy levelled his gaze at Jim, saying softly, slowly, "What the fuck, Jim."

It was the first time in a long time that Roy had used Jim's given name. It chilled him to the bone. "Honestly, Roy, I don't know what it is. I just found it. I swear."

"What the fuck?!" Roy repeated himself, crumpling up the paper and hurling it across the room, "What did you do, Halpert?!"

"Nothing, I swear."

But it wasn't good enough. Roy swung his fist; Jim started to duck out of the way but the blow still connected with his right cheek, sending him sideways into a potted plant. Darryl stepped in front of Roy and was holding him back as he fumed. Jim stood up to his full height and contemplated fighting back. Instead, he stood his ground and protested his innocence.

"I see the way you look at her! Don't try and hide this!"

"I swear to God, Roy. I have no idea where this came from." He felt blood on his cheek and the stinging pain of an open wound on his cheekbone. The pain made Jim's eyes begin to water. "I just found it before you saw it. I swear. I don't even like Pam." It was a downright lie and he was sure Roy knew it, but it was the first thing that came to mind and he honestly would have said anything to get Roy to calm down.

"If I find out that you laid a FINGER on her, Halpert, I swear to GOD, man…!" He fumed, then looked at Darryl, "I'm gonna kill her. The nerve to be writing some other guy's name while she's with ME!"

Darryl pulled his friend to the door, "Let's just get to Philly and cool down. Come on. You have your cell phone. Let's go."

Roy looked at Jim, "This ain't over. I don't care what you say. I don't care what Pam says. You're both two-timing losers. You can have her. You deserve each other."

Jim help up his hands, as if to say 'Leave me out of this'. Roy just shook his head and muttered to himself, then angrily turned around and stomped out of the office, kicking the couch by the door as he walked past it, with Darryl close behind.

For several seconds, Jim teetered on his feet. His hands shook, and he felt his knees beginning to give way. He finally had to sit down in Dwight's chair behind him while his adrenaline levels returned to normal. Moments later, he put his head in his hands while silent tears spilled from his eyes.

Then he picked up the desk phone and dialed Pam's number, a number he had memorized, could dial in his sleep if he had to. She picked up after three rings, out of breath and wheezing into the phone. Without a cordial greeting or even waiting for her to finish saying hello, Jim launched into his plea.

"Pam, it's me. You have to leave."

"What? Who is this? Jim?" she asked, "I just stepped in the door. Why would I leave again?"

Jim repeated himself, "You have to leave your house. Meet me at my apartment."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

A long silence followed on the other end. Jim could hear her breathing and the distinctive sounds of the phone crackling while she twirled the phone cord around her finger – a nervous twitch of hers that was normally endearing but which right now was frustrating in its tedium and how much precious time it was eating up. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"Okay Jim. I'll meet you at your apartment."

"I'll be over as soon as I can."

He hung up without saying another word, then hurried over to the door. Then he stopped, turned back, picked up the crumpled sheet of paper. He uncrumpled it, flattened it against the desk, and then gingerly – so gingerly, in fact, that he surprised himself in his ability to handle something so lightly – he folded it up and put it in his breast pocket. Satisfied in its safety, he turned off the lights, locked the door behind him as he left the office, and hurried home.

* * *

**A/N: Making sense? You like it so far? Please R/R -- tell me what you want!! :) Thanks! More to come soon!**


	5. My Body is a Cage

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the song "My Body is a Cage", from The Arcade Fire's 2007 album _Neon Bible._**

* * *

Jim paced his living room. It had been half an hour since he'd called Pam, and he'd been home for twenty minutes already anticipating her arrival. When he finally saw headlights on the street below, glanced out and saw it was Pam, his stomach knotted like it had when he first set eyes on the page that had started it all. He lifted his right hand and lightly fingered the outline of the paper in his breast pocket, contenting himself with the fact that it was close and so was Pam.

He went down to meet her, and reached the landing as he heard her rap three times on the door. He pulled the door open and Pam stumbled in, still out of breath and looking angry.

"I don't know why you called me here, but it had better be good," she said, not looking at Jim but instead concentrating on putting her car keys into her purse, "I ran into Roy as I was leaving. He's madder than a hornet and was screaming something about you and I think he dented my car when he kicked it and –."

Jim, without thinking and totally on impulse, closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders, so glad to see her unhurt and in spite of her fury. He held her in his arms, felt her arms tentatively circle his waist , and he was struck by how timidly she did it, how delicate she felt to him, as if he'd crush her if he squeezed any harder. He wondered if she was always this fragile or if something had changed.

"Jim…," she said softly, her breath warm through the fabric of his shirt, "What the hell is going on?"

He pulled away then, and she saw his face, gasping loudly as it came into focus, "Jesus!"

His hand flew to his face and he realized that not only had he not changed out of his work clothes, he hadn't even cleaned the cut yet either, "I'm sorry, I was just so worried about you and when you didn't show up right away I just kept pacing and I guess I just didn't… ."

Pam put her hands on his shoulders to steady him, "Jim. Listen to me. I need peroxide, a cotton swab, and a band-aid. Can you get them for me or tell me where they are?"

Jim nodded and turned to get the requested supplies, while Pam slipped her feet out of her shoes and hung her heavy coat up on the hook beside the door. When Jim returned, she was seated at Jim's kitchen table. "I couldn't find the overhead light switch," she said.

He flicked the switch and the room was illuminated. He set his first aid kit down on the table and sat down beside Pam, who opened the kit and began taking out the necessary supplies.

"Surprisingly well-stocked, Halpert," she said, pulling out two alcohol swabs, a small tube of ointment, and a medium-sized adhesive bandage. "Few men I know even own a box of band-aids, let alone a whole first aid kit."

"You'd be surprised," Jim said, not realizing why he said it. He watched as Pam opened one of the alcohol cloths and wrapped it around her right index fingertip.

"This might sting a little," she said quietly. He nodded, and she placed her left hand around Jim's neck to steady him while she gently pressed the cloth-covered fingertip against his now swollen cheekbone, wiping away the dried and clotting blood and exposing the laceration. Jim winced and Pam pulled away. "Sorry." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"It's fine," he said. The cool cloth on her finger was nice on his skin, even though it hurt like hell on his cut. He wanted to close his eyes and savour the moment, her touch, the scent of her shampoo. Instead he watched her, how intently she focused on the task at hand, narrowing her eyes and biting her lip a little as she swiped the pad across his face for the last time.

"There," she said, "Almost done."

She opened the bandage and squeezed a small amount of the ointment onto the square of cotton in the middle, then placed it over the cut and smoothed the adhesive parts down on either side.

"Thanks, Dr. Beesly."

She smiled as she crumpled the wrappers and the alcohol cloth in her hand. "No problem."

Jim took the garbage and walked over to his sink to dispose of it.

"Now," she said, "Would you mind filling me in? What happened tonight?"

Jim heaved a sigh that ripped the wind out of him right from the pit of his stomach. He shook his head as he went over to the cupboard and began rummaging around inside, "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure things out myself." He opened his icebox door and pulled out a tray of ice cubes.

"Let's start with how you got hurt," Pam offered.

"Let's start with a drink," Jim said, dropping two cubes into a glass, "Want one?"

"Whatever will get you talking," she said.

He got a second glass, clinked two ice cubes into it, and proceeded to pour too much rum into each glass, which he soon topped off with Coca Cola. He handed her the drink – she could smell the alcohol – and motioned for her to follow him into the living room. She sat down on the sofa. Jim paced.

"When you left Poor Richard's tonight with Bob and Phyllis, Roy realized that you had his cell phone. I told him that I remembered you saying that you'd forgotten it at work, so he asked me to drive him back to get it. I didn't want to but I had a key and I couldn't really say no, so, I drove him back to the office. When we got there he basically started ransacking your desk trying to find his phone and so I tried to help to minimize the general destruction." He talked a lot with his hands, he realized. To still them, he paused and reached up into his pocket to retrieve the paper, "I found this on your desk. Roy saw me reading it."

He handed her the paper. Unfolding it, the look in her eyes told Jim that she knew what was written on the page without having to read it. Her hands began to tremble a bit.

"How did you find this?"

"It was on top of some other stuff. I don't know whether Roy shifted it around or what, but it was just there."

"You shouldn't have seen this," she said, "You shouldn't have read it."

"I barely knew what it was before Roy grabbed it from me," Jim lied.

Pam nodded and folded the paper up again, holding it in her lap. "So he read it?"

Jim nodded.

"And he…?" she motioned to her own cheek to indicate Jim's injury. Again, Jim nodded.

Pam was silent for a long time before she spoke. "This is such a mess," she repeated over and over to herself. "This is such a mess."

Jim continued to pace. He was biting on his thumbnail, watching Pam.

"Will you quit that?" she snapped. "You're making me nervous."

Jim sat down beside her.

"So Roy thinks…?"

"What does it matter what Roy thinks, Pam. I thought you two were… ."

Pam sighed, "We are. I mean, I thought we were, too. But then…," she stopped herself and began to fidget with her hand, then extended it flat towards Jim. He saw the ring, and his heart plummeted because he knew exactly what it was.

"How did you go from separated to engaged again?" Jim asked her flatly.

"I don't know. I didn't even really say yes. And I'm only wearing the ring because if I-I… ." She trailed off, grew silent. "Roy is a nice guy, Jim. He really is. He just has a temper and he really wants to get back together."

Jim felt sick to his stomach. "Pam, what do _you_ want?"

Pam looked down at the paper in her hands. She unfolded it and refolded it twice before looking back at him. "Jim, I just don't know."

Jim kept looking from her ring to the paper in her lap. "And just when things between us… ."

She snapped her head up to look at him, opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. They sat like that, in silence for a long time, each waiting for the other to speak but also just letting the silence hang between them.

Finally, Jim stood up. "Pam, I'm sorry about what happened tonight. I'm sorry for wedging myself into your relationship with Roy, into your business." He held up his hands, a lot like he did earlier to fend off Roy's anger, and looked past Pam -- _through_ Pam -- for the first time all night. It almost killed her. "I lost you once, I think I can do it again."

He walked off down the hallway, drink in hand. Pam sat still, open-mouthed, and stared after him, not sure whether she should insinuate herself into his new sought privacy or whether she should leave. _What's waiting for you if you leave?_ Pam thought ruefully. She worried that Roy would still be at her place, waiting for her, and she knew she didn't want to be anywhere near him when he was drunk and mad to boot_. If you leave, you have that waiting for you. _

_And if you stay… ._

She looked after Jim. A smile danced at the corner of her lips. The decision wasn't a difficult one on paper; real feelings, ten years of her life with Roy, and all that had happened in the past year _made_ it difficult. Life, in other words, was getting in the way. But there he was, separated from her by a few thin walls, and it was simple. For the first time in a long time, Pam saw through the opacity that had engulfed her. She slipped the gold and diamond engagement ring off her finger and left it on the coffee table, stood up, and softly padded down the hall.

Pam found Jim sitting on the edge of his bed in a room lit by only the single incandescent lightbulb underneath a small table lamp. He was listening to music – "My Body is a Cage" by the Arcade Fire, Pam recognized it right away as one of Jim's most recent favourites – and staring at the wall; he hadn't noticed her standing in the doorway.

"Jim," she intoned, her voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at her, and she saw that he was crying.

"I thought you'd left."

She shook her head and took a step into the room. "It's not an easy decision, but it should be, you know?" she crossed the room as she said this until she was sitting on the bed next to him. She touched his face, ran a finger over the bandage. "As long as you know that I'm trying to sort it all out in my head."

He looked her over, running his eyes around her face and taking in every luminous inch of her. "Stay. Tonight."

Pam's finger intercepted a tear as it rolled down his cheek. "Mm-hmm," she said, and then she kissed him softly on the mouth as Win Butler crooned in the background.

"_My body is a cage that keeps me__  
From dancing with the one I love  
But my mind hold the key...__  
You're standing next to me__  
My mind holds the key...  
Set my spirit free"_


	6. Things Will End Before They Start

**A/N: I had no idea a first aid scene could be so sexy… oh wait… yes I did… that's every week on "Grey's"… lol Anyway, the chapter title for this was borrowed from another Sufjan Stevens' song, called "Holland", from the album **_**Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State**_**.**

**Also: please don't despair! I promise you, this story _will _have a happy ending if you are of the Jim/Pam persuasion. I'm just not _all _about fluffy romance because that stuff happens so rarely in real life. A lot has already transpired between Pam and Jim that their decision just can't be this easy, and will thus need some time to play out. If you stick with me, it will pay off, I promise. I truly hope you enjoy!**

* * *

They stayed there, lips pressed together, swaying in the dimly lit room, for what seemed like an eternity. Like their first real kiss, on the night of the casino. Except tonight, Pam felt… sexier, somehow. Her hips were magnetized and pulled her closer to Jim until they were touching, pelvis to pelvis, and she felt the throb of her passion ignite for the first time in a long time. Feeling his erection pressing against her belly, and knowing what was happening wasn't just in her imagination or only between her legs, comforted her immensely. It had been a very long time since she'd felt this kind of mutual attraction, as it hadn't been this way between her and Roy for years. Pam hungered for more.

And yet Jim kept his head in spite of what his body was saying, and the kiss was achingly slow. It was as if he knew that the slower he kissed her, the more she would want him. _I guess this is foreplay_, the cynic in Pam thought to herself. But she sighed against his lips and broke away, fearful of going too far too quickly. She licked her lips, tasting him there, and took his hands in hers.

"Jim," she said, her heart breaking, "Kissing you is wonderful…."

Jim let out an unsteady laugh – the kind that half exploded from his diaphragm because he's been crying and which, in trying to control, came out a little lopsided. Pam giggled at the sound of it, feeling her heart melt. "Pam," he said, "the only thing keeping me going this last year has been the memory of kissing you…," he rubbed his thumbs over the skin on the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Jim," she said suddenly.

He shook his head, "Don't say that," he took a breath, "Let's just look forward, okay?"

"No, Jim, I can't. I can't do this." She let go of his hands and ran them through her hair, frustrated, "God! Why did I leave that paper out?"

Jim took a step back, his face registering his confusion and hurt. Pam watched in agony, knowing she was the cause.

"I don't know what to do, Jim. This is all… seriously fucked up."

"This? Us?"

"No," she said. Her voice annoyed her, it sounded so whiny. "I'm confused Jim. I don't want to do anything I'm going to regret."

This only seemed to make things worse. Jim winced as if he'd been slapped, "I'm really sorry you feel that way, Pam, because I won't regret any of this."

"I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

"Well Pam, why don't we stop dancing around the subject. Why don't you, for once, mean what you say." He didn't raise his voice, but his frustration was evident.

Pam had tears in her eyes. "I meant what I said at the beach. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my calling off the wedding sooner, but all the same, I called it off because of you and what you said. And you're the one who left, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember that I left because I had nothing here for me anymore. Nothing. You were the one reason I got up every morning to come into work, and I wouldn't have been able to stand it if there was no chance between us."

"For Christ's sake, Jim! I've been engaged for the last three years! There was no chance for us."

"Then why the hell did you call off the wedding in the first place?!" Jim replied angrily. "Give me one good reason why, and then you can run back to him and I'll leave you alone."

Pam turned on her heel and stormed out the bedroom, hot tears stinging her eyes. She threw on her coat and stuffed her feet into her shoes. Jim caught up with her.

She furrowed her brow as she struggled to loose her hair from the collar of her coat. Her eyes burned from the desire to cry, "It's too much, Jim. I don't know what I'm doing, but being with you isn't helping."

Jim made a series of attempts to say something, but nothing came out. He just watched as she hastily dressed herself and prepared to walk out of his apartment.

"What about Roy?"

The question made her stop and straighten up. She turned around to face Jim, looking him square in the eyes.

"Jim…," her voice was pained, as if his name had gotten stuck on the way out.

Jim frowned and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, for what I said and how I acted," he looked her directly, "But Pam, I'm confused. The signals you're sending…," he shook his head, "No, it's okay. You're confused too." He gulped, nearly choking on his words himself. "I don't think I can do this. First you don't love me, then that night, you kissed me, too…," another gulp, "And then I leave, thinking you're going off to become someone else's wife, and then that doesn't happen and I'm with Karen and… you're designing monogrammed bath towels for us… and now I find out that it's all been futile anyway because we could never have a future, according to you."

Pam was crying now. Jim wanted desperately to reach out and hold her, but something inside him pulled back.

"Roy's a jerk, Pam. He doesn't love you like I love you. He never could."

Pam lifted her eyes to meet his, "But he did, once. And that's what you don't know about Roy. If there's any shred of that left, I owe it to him and the last ten years of my life to try, don't I?"

The silence that hung between them threatened to suffocate the room. Pam choked back more tears and, without saying a word, turned around, opened the front door, and walked through it.

The moment she hit the cold night air, she fulfilled her own prophecy about that night: she instantly regretted her decision. The tears she cried could have drowned Lackawanna County, and as she pulled into her driveway and saw Roy's truck parked there, she realized she couldn't remember how she got home or why she had bothered to drive, since it wasn't the place she truly wanted to be.

Roy was sitting on the step outside the building. When he saw Pam, he stood up and came over to embrace her. Her stomach turned, because Roy smelled like stale beer and cigarettes, and she wanted the scent that filled her nostrils to be that mixture of Jim's cologne, his fabric softener, and his _warmth_. Pam knew that the arms holding her at that moment would probably had been around someone else had Roy actually made it to Philadelphia that night; tonight, Jim's arms would hold no one. She scrunched her face up and wept, clinging to Roy because he was the only thing to cling to, and he thought it was because she loved him back. She followed him inside, too weak to turn back, and she cried during the sex they had, the sex she had initiated because she wanted to feel something other than her longing, the kind of sex that hurt her and turned her tears into something fierce and angry, because she wanted so desperately for the person with her that night to be somebody else.

Pam had written many lists in her life. Grocery lists, lists of her favourite songs, lists of things Michael had done during a Friday afternoon. That night, instead of going to sleep, Pam stayed up and drafted the first list of any real consequence to her life. She divided the page into four columns. Above the first two, she wrote Roy's name; above the second two, she wrote Jim's. She blindly filled it out, not realizing what she was writing until she noticed she was out of room and had to get a second sheet. It was 6:30 in the morning. Only then did she see how long her list of complaints against Roy truly was. Underneath Jim's name, she had doodled three hearts and a flower, a daisy. Roy hated her art.

She heard a buzzing noise. Her cell phone, where she'd left it that morning, plugged into the outlet on the stove front, was notifying her of an incoming text message. She padded over softly and flipped it open, reading the message window with tears in her eyes. Crying softly, Pam crumpled up the list she'd made and threw it in the garbage, then stared out of her kitchen window at the sunrise, as if seeing it for the first time.

--

Jim figured that Pam was going home, and he was banking on the fact that Roy would be there waiting for her. He figured they would probably have make up sex and that the bastard would get to hold her while she slept. The thought was intoxicating, and it made him delirious. He barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up.

Everything ached. He felt like he'd been stabbed. He'd lost Pam once before, and now he was losing her again. He considered calling Dwight to ask him if he knew any statistics on the pain felt on impact by people who had jumped off buildings to end their life. Anything would feel better than what he was feeling right then.

He lay awake all night, watching until the sun began to streak the sky in the east with subdued blues and then marvellous pinks, purples, and oranges. His heart ached as he watched the sky morph right in front of his eyes. He had never really watched a sunrise before, not like this.

Without thinking, he walked calmly into the kitchen and grabbed his own cell phone out of his coat pocket. He took one picture with the built in camera, then proceeded to send it to the one other person in the world he knew would appreciate it. Along with the photo he sent, Jim typed: _Saw the sky this morning and thought of you. Maybe you should paint this one day. Jim._


	7. Blame It On the Weekends

**A/N: Chapter title taken from the song "Blame it on the Tetons", from Modest Mouse's 2004 album **_**Good News For People Who Like Bad News. **_**Enjoy!**

* * *

Jim (_talking head_): Nothing happened. It was a pretty uneventful weekend. (_pauses to glance out the conference room window. The camera focuses on a bouquet of flowers at reception. Jim turns his head back, his eyes downcast_) It left a lot to be desired. (_Pause again_) It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to go into more detail, so I'll just leave it at that… .

--

Pam (_talking head_): He said that? (_pause. A look of pain crosses her face as she plays with the hem on her flower print skirt_) Oh those? Yeah, Roy bought me the flowers. Carnations. (_After a brief pause,_ _she looks right at the camera_) You know, I hate carnations.

--

When Jim arrived at work on Monday morning, his face looked better than it had on Saturday, but the bruise was yellow and brown and quite noticeable. Dwight had cornered him early on at the photocopier and suddenly began offering advice on self-defense.

"If all else fails," he whispered cautiously, pausing for dramatic effect, "…bear spray." He reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a can to give to Jim.

Jim looked down at what Dwight was offering him, then up into his face, casually glancing over to the camera before looking back down again at the photocopier. "No Dwight, I don't want your bear spray."

"It's okay. I have two more in my desk and one in my briefcase. You can have it."

Jim rolled his eyes and pocketed the small canister with a quiet thanks. He'd find some use for it. _If Roy ever tries to punch me again_, he thought, thinking about Friday night as he turned around and walked back to his desk. Pam was looking at him. He nodded and gave a thin smile before averting his gaze and trying his best to fight the overwhelming temptation to stop and tell her about the exchange at the copier. His breaks at her desk had become so regular, they had become unconscious. As he sat there with his back to her, he realized she looked so tired. And yet she still radiated. Jim felt a pit in his stomach and he brushed the thoughts from his head. _Quit torturing yourself, Halpert_.

He'd been sitting for only a moment when Michael called him into his office. As ranking number two, being called into closed door meeting with Michael had become a regular occurrence, but it was still something Jim hadn't gotten used to. But Michael was leaving for the North American office supply convention, leaving Jim in charge, and Jim figured this would be the topic of this particular meeting. But Michael had been known to throw a curveball Jim's way every now and then. The last time they had a meeting, Jim had only been asked to help Michael decide on what kind of flowers to send to Jan. Jim had no expectations as he walked into the office.

"Close the door." Michael was leaning against the front of his desk.

"What's up?"

Michael finally got his first good look of Jim's face, "Yowza! That's one helluva shiner there, Jimbo."

"Don't call me that," Jim replied flatly.

"I mean, I knew you did some hard drinking the other night," Michael laughed and glanced at the camera. Jim shook his head, knowing that Michael had drank more than anyone that night. "You got into a fight… with the sidewalk. Didn't you?!"

"No Michael. I did not lose a fight with the sidewalk. It was an accident. Thanks for your concern, but I'm fine."

Michael's laugh trailed off and he clasped his hands in front of him, suddenly very serious. He lowered his voice. "Jim, I can't say I know what it's like to be in a gang, but if you ever need anyone to talk to… ."

Jim stood up, "Is that it, Michael? I have a lot of work to do."

Michael walked around to his chair, "Uh… yep, actually… no," he paused, "I need to send someone to the convention."

"I thought you were going."

Michael looked sheepish, and he lowered his voice to a near whisper to avoid being heard by the cameras. "Ryyyyaaaaan requested that I not attend."

"Really."

"He asked me to send you."

"Really."

"Really."

Jim looked at the camera, then back at Michael, "Where is it again?"

"Halifax," Michael shrugged, scratching his forehead, "I think it's somewhere near Albany… ."

"It's actually the capital city of Nova Scotia."

"Really?"

Jim just stared at him.

"Well, whatever, it sounds boring… uh," he looked at the camera and back at Jim, laughing, "And by boring I mean more fun than a barrel o' monkeys!" he laughed at his own joke. "So the convention is tomorrow and Wednesday. You come back Thursday afternoon."

"What have you got for me to bring?"

He shook his head, "Jim, you were there last year, weren't you? You saw how much preparation we did."

Unfortunately, Jim remembered the whole thing.

"You go there, you take some notes, get some great swag," Michael shrugged, "You might even close a deal or two. Bet you can't top getting Staples to break their Hammermill exclusivity contract and sign with us…," Michael looked pleased with himself, "That was me."

Jim nodded, "It sure was." He sighed, "So you didn't prepare anything, but did you at least book a flight?"

Michael guffawed, "Duh! Of course Ryan got tickets for both… you…," Michael coughed, "and Dwight, so that's not a problem… ."

"Dwight?" Jim asked, flashing a grin at the camera. _Maybe this could be fun…_ .

"You're the two best salesmen here, Jim," Michael said, slapping his number 2 on the back and clearly misinterpreting Jim's reaction. "Come on, Jim. Take one for the team! Be a trooper. Be a Koopa Troopaaaa!" He looked at the camera, "Super Mario Brothers."

Jim stood up to leave, "When do we fly out?"

"Three hours," Michael replied, "And you should tell Dwight."

"Why can't you?"

Michael ignored his last comment. Jim rolled his eyes again and left Michael's office. He walked around to his desk and began logging off and shutting down his computer. "Dwight?"

"What is it?" Dwight didn't even look up from the computer screen.

"You have an hour to go home and pack. We're going to Halifax."

Dwight looked at Michael's office, but Michael had drawn the blinds. Then he looked back at Jim.

"What's in Halifax?"

"The paper supply convention."

Jim tried not to notice Pam's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew she was listening. Intently. Instead, he watched the look of self-importance almost literally inflate Dwight's head to twice its original size.

"Driving?"

"Flying."

"How long?"

"Till Thursday."

"Why isn't Michael going?"

"Ryan won't let him go." Jim stood up and retrieved his briefcase from under his desk.

Dwight, who had been sitting perfectly still for the entire exchange, stood up slowly and grabbed his briefcase, addressing Jim with an air of casual indifference that Jim knew must have been torture for him. "I will drive to the airport. You can leave your car here at the office until Thursday."

Jim was already halfway out of the office, jangling his keys in his hand. "No. Not gonna happen, Dwight. We're leaving your car."

"Why?" Dwight asked.

"Because nobody is going to try and steal an '87 Trans Am from a locked parking lot, Dwight."

Indignant, Dwight grabbed his coat and followed Jim out of the office.

--

Dwight (_talking head_): Three days with Jim? (_he shrugs_) How bad can it be? I am a little worried about being in Halifax though. I don't know much about the city, and I didn't have time to check before Jim dragged me away. (_Pause_) It's near Albany, isn't it?

--

Jim felt his pocket vibrate as he boarded the plane. Dwight heard it and looked down at Jim's pant leg.

"I sincerely hope that's your phone."

"Funny, Dwight." Jim pulled the cell out of his pocket to check who was calling. It was the office. "I need to take this. Save me a seat, buddy!" He waved Dwight on.

Dwight feigned excitement and then boarded the plane. Jim flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. "Halpert."

"Jim?"

He nearly dropped the phone. "Hi. Pam."

"Hi." Silence. "Are you on the plane?"

"No. Well, almost. We're boarding."

"Oh. Well I just wanted to say… ." She trailed off. The last in the line of passengers to board the plane were just about at the gate.

"Pam, I can't talk long. They're just about finished boarding."

"About the other night," she started saying at the same time. The reception was awful. His phone began to cut off what she was saying.

The woman at the gate looked at Jim. He nodded and held up one finger as he began to walk around until he found a spot with decent reception. "Pam? Can you hear me?"

She had just continued talking. "Maybe I was… I don't know… but I have to… ."

"Pam…," Jim said, increasingly frustrated with the lack of mobile service. "Pam, the reception is terrible." He suddenly found himself in a spotlight of good reception.

"…and I just wanted to say… ."

"I'm sorry Pam, the reception here is horrible and I have to get on this plane or it's going to leave without me."

He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was disappointed, that the perk in her voice was put-on. "Oh. That's fine. I'll let you go."

"I'll call you from Halifax."

"Sure." She didn't sound convinced.

Jim handed his ticket to the lady at the gate for her to scan, the phone still pressed to his ear. He mouthed 'Just about finished' to her and she nodded and waved him on. Pam still hadn't said anything.

"Um, all right then, I'll talk to you soon, Beesly."

"Jim, I--." She had started talking so quietly right as he hung up the phone, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He stopped dead in his tracks and flipped his phone open again once he'd realized what he'd done. The screen was blank. The call had disconnected. His heart sank. The doors behind him clanked shut and he was alone in the corridor. So he sadly powered down his phone and trudged up the walkway and into the cabin. Dwight was sitting in the aisle seat. Jim threw his carry-on bag into the overhead bin and then squeezed by, dropping into his seat with the grace of a ragdoll.

"Why the long face?" Dwight asked.

Jim brought a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them hard with his thumb and index finger. _What was she going to say?_ He wondered if he'd ever know now. Without looking at his seatmate, Jim mindlessly closed the shutter on the window, leaned his head back against the headrest, and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Dwight."


	8. It All Will Fall Right Into Place

**A/N: Sorry if these chapters are too long. I just have so much to write, and I can't justify sacrificing story arc just in order to cut five hundred words. I like to think the chapters are quick reads, but if they're really, super, duper, annoying long and you just can't stand it... let me know!**

**Chapter title borrowed again from Modest Mouse, this time from their album **_**The Moon and Antarctica**_**; the song is called "Gravity Rides Everything". I think it was in a Nissan commercial, too. (**_**shrug**_**)**

* * *

"We should check in, make sure everything is okay with the room," Dwight announced as they exited the cab in front of the Delta hotel in Halifax.

"_Rooms_," Jim corrected as he and Dwight walked up to the lobby doors, "I called Ryan and made sure we would have two _rooms_."

"Jim," Dwight's voice was stern. He stopped in front of Jim to get his attention. "Dunder Mifflin is not…," he looked around him, lowering his voice, "…We're not Office Depot, okay? If there's only room in the budget for one room, we are not in a position to complain."

Jim nodded, "You're right. You _aren't _in a position to complain. I _am_. I _did. _And Ryan okayed it. But thanks for stating the obvious."

He veered around Dwight and beelined for the check-in counter. Ten minutes later, he and Dwight were unlocking the doors to their rooms, next door to one another, and with a connecting door in between – a small concession on Jim's part because Dwight had insisted to the front clerk it was necessary "in case there's an emergency and I need to get to you quickly". Rather than argue, Jim went along with the plan and kept his mouth shut.

The agenda for the convention had been given to them at check-in; Jim made sure a copy was faxed back to Scranton just in case. It came complete with name tags and schedules and was all wrapped up in a neat white folder. And absolutely nothing inside appealed to Jim in any way, and he suddenly found himself wishing he had stayed in Scranton. He had an hour before he and Dwight were to meet the other Dunder Mifflin employees at an Irish pub called O'Carrol's down on the harbour. _At least it will give me something to do,_ Jim thought. He reclined on the bed nearest to the window, stretched his feet out and crossed his legs at the ankle, picked up the phone beside the bed, yawned, and dialed the number for the room next door.

Without warning, Dwight burst through the door separating their two rooms. "Jim, is everything okay?"

Jim didn't even hang up the phone. The moment was almost too perfect for words, so he just sat there in silence, looking in astonishment at his co-worker. But Dwight, realizing the lack of emergency, stuck his hands on his hips and frowned.

"Why did you call if there was no trouble?"

"Because I didn't want to get up to ask you if you'd read the itinerary. We're heading out in an hour."

"Yes, I had," Dwight replied, and then changed his tone, "Hey, do you think Karen'll be here."

At the mere mention of his ex's name, Jim froze. He hadn't thought about that possibility. Of course Karen would be there; she was the regional manager at Utica. It would be the first time he'd seen her since she'd broken up with him. He hadn't thought about her for a long time, but to be fair, it seemed like such a long time ago that they had been dating. With things so out of balance with Pam, Jim felt like a cad thinking about talking to Karen – Pam was, after all, the reason for the break-up. Either he had to lie and pretend everything was fine, or he'd have to admit that the leap he'd hinted at taking with Pam had yet to pay off, and that he'd forced Karen to end what could have been a lasting relationship for nothing. Neither option appealed to him. For the second time in five minutes, Jim wished desperately to be back in Scranton.

Noticing Jim's consternation – or perhaps counting on it – Dwight cooed, "Ooh, still fresh?" The contrived look of concern that crossed his face was replaced by yet another sneer, "I'll be in my room. _Knock_ when you're ready to leave."

As Dwight walked back through the door, Jim was already mentally throwing together what he was going to wear that night. He sat down on the edge of the bed, scolding himself, and waited for the butterflies to subside.

--

The walk to O'Carrol's would have been unbearable. He felt like a man condemned, making his way to the gallows. But the evening stroll along Halifax Harbour with Dwight almost completely made him forget about what he was heading towards; at the very least, it was mildly entertaining, and at best, Jim found it hard to keep from bursting with laughter. They were the last to arrive on account of Jim's having to ask Dwight meaningless but amusing questions about the various aspects of maritime life, all of which Jim knew couldn't be farther from the truth.

"You spend a lot of time on Wikipedia, don't you?" Jim hazarded a guess as they neared the bar.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Dwight asked with more than a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"You do realize it's user-edited, right?" Jim had meant it as a way for Dwight to explain away any inaccuracies in his reporting.

"Of course," came the reply, "I edit daily."

Jim looked around for the camera – omnipresent as ever, except, thankfully, in the hotel rooms – and raised his eyebrows in incredulity. Prank ideas suddenly abounded in Jim's restless mind, and he was still grinning when they walked into the pub.

The first person he saw was Karen. He hadn't meant to look directly at her, but she was facing the door, shoulders almost perfectly squared up with his. And she looked right back as soon as she saw the door open. Jim gulped and put his hands in the pockets of his khakis, then led the way over to the table.

Jim surprised himself immensely by being able to make it through two hours of conversation without one hint of awkwardness between Karen and himself. He did find it difficult to explain to everyone why there were two documentary film cameras watching his and Dwight's every move, as only a couple of people had heard about the Scranton branch's documentary deal. Jim had always found that part to be annoying; he had learned to live with the cameras presence, but new people just didn't get it. Sometimes, the first thing Jim did in the morning was look for the camera in his room, it was so much a part of his nature. But after a little getting used to, the travelers talked about the cold weather they'd been having lately in the northeast, the upcoming NHL season, and even plans for office Christmas parties. Jim remained as actively engaged as he could, if only to avoid a lull which would give Karen an opportunity to say something to him. He certainly hadn't pegged her as an aggressively vindictive personality when they had been dating, but now that they were apart, he recalled Shakespeare's lament about a woman scorned and cringed at the thought of what she could probably say – and with good reason behind it, too.

Still, when the group packed up to go, Jim felt something nagging him. He wondered if there were things to say, and if so, should he be the one to say them. The answer wasn't immediate, but as he and Dwight prepared to go, Karen tapped Jim on the shoulder.

"Hi Jim," she said. "Long time no see."

"Karen," Jim smiled, "How are you?'

"I'm well. A little stressed with the new job, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Dwight nosed his way into the conversation, "If the job is too stressful, Fillipelli, maybe you should reconsider your position. You know what stress can do to a woman's cycle."

Jim shook his head and mouthed an apology to Karen, who just laughed. "Did I tell you how much I missed you, Dwight?"

Dwight rolled his eyes. "Halpert, are you coming?"

Jim looked back at Karen, "Uh… I don't know."

Karen smiled, "I'd like to catch up, if you have a little time," she glanced at Dwight, "Don't worry, I'll have him home before midnight."

Dwight looked at Jim, who nodded towards the door, and then he shrugged, saying "Suit yourself," before walking out the door with a large retreating group of managers and assistants.

"So how have you been?" Karen asked as they headed for the door, swinging it open into the night air.

"Hanging in there," Jim replied with a casual shrug.

"How's everyone in Scranton?"

"Fine," he nodded, "Everyone's doing… fine. How's life treating you in Utica?"

"More or less the same as it was in Scranton."

Jim nodded as if he'd understood and maybe a part of him did – he had had to watch the person he loved be with someone else, and for all Karen knew, he'd been happy to let her go in order to be with someone else. But he knew from the hint of melancholy in her voice that she was referring to him. Before he could say anything, interject in any way to clear the air and address the elephant in the room, Karen parenthesized the silence with the question Jim had been dreading.

"And how's Pam?"

Jim swallowed hard and nodded, "She's good. Things are generally good."

He shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked down the street, slowly, about a block behind the rest of the group.

"That's good," Karen said.

More silence."

"Jim--?" Karen began.

"Karen--?"

They looked at each other and laughed. Jim made a motion for her to speak first and she smiled. "Let's just deal with this and get it out of the way."

"Agreed," Jim said, "Totally love the idea."

She laughed, "I _am _happy for you, Jim."

"Me too," he said, "I mean, I'm happy for you."

"And breaking up was the right thing for us."

"Absolutely."

"Fine. Good. End of story." Karen nodded and continued to walk along, and Jim strode slowly to match her pace. They walked in virtual silence for a while, commenting on little things, and never truly shaking the discomfort that their shared past had brought up again. It was not entirely unpleasant; Jim couldn't help but be struck at how beautiful Karen was and how she had changed in the few months since they'd been apart. Jim wasn't sure if he had loved Karen, but he did remember what a good friend and lover she had been. _Maybe the best yet_, he thought to himself, just as his phone began to vibrate loudly in his pocket. He groaned and took it out.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "It's Michael," he said, and she just had to roll her eyes to get her understanding across. With a smile, Jim flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

"Jim, sorry to bother you."

"Not a problem."

"I need some advice. Pam went home sick today from work, and she called me just a few minutes ago to tell me she won't be in all week, and I read in this book that it's nice to send your sick employees flowers…."

Jim had ignored everything Michael said after the words 'Pam' and 'sick' were uttered in the same sentence. "Wait, what do you mean, she's sick? What's wrong? Did she say?"

They had reached the hotel doors. Karen stood by awkwardly for a moment before she smiled at him. "I'll just go in," she whispered.

"Are you sure?" he mouthed.

She nodded. "See you tomorrow. Night."

Jim waved, "G'night," he said. He watched her walk in the doors, following the curves of her body and remembering sleepless nights with her at his side. He blushed and turned away, only barely aware of the phone against his ear as he pivoted. A flash of pink caught his eye. A familiar face, attached to a familiar body, stepping out of a cab that had just pulled up in the driveway. The curly hair, the blue and white pin-striped shirt, the pink jacket… .

Michael continued to talk Jim's ear off as Jim walked over to the pretty receptionist with her back to him. He tapped her on the shoulder, burying his cell against his chest to muffle the sound, and smiled. "Hiya, Pam."


	9. The Night Starts Here

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from Stars' song "The Night Starts Here". Gosh, I'm really loving this story -- I'm so happy you all love it as much as I do! I'm just letting the story take me where it wants, so I don't know where any of this will lead... but I have a feeling it's going to take a little while to end. :) I hope you stick with me!**

* * *

"Jim!" Pam cried as she turned around. She had never before been both so terrified and so happy to see someone as she did at that moment.

Jim put a finger to his lips and pointed to the phone pressed against his collarbone. He brought it back up to his ear. "Yeah, Michael, the reception isn't very good right where I'm standing. Can you repeat that?"

Pam listened in as she dragged her suitcase out of the backseat of the cab and collected her credit card receipt from the driver.

"No Michael, don't do that. Pam hates carnations."

Freezing, Pam smiled to herself at the idea that Jim was so observant of her likes and dislikes. That was the difference – one of the differences – that had led her to Halifax on a Monday night in September to see him, to try. She struggled to remember the last time she had felt so cared about. So loved.

"I'd wait," Jim said, "You never know what could happen."

A series of "mm-hmm"'s and "yup"'s followed, culminating in a cheerful sounding "Will do" and the soft click of Jim's phone closing. Pam straightened herself up and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Pamela Morgan Beesly," Jim said, "Did you know your boss was just on the line? If he caught you playing hooky… ."

She smiled wide and took a step forward to hug Jim, but stopped short, unsure of what the appropriate gesture would be. Jim seemed hesitant too; he glanced inside the hotel lobby a few time before reaching out and plucking a piece of thread from her coat. She was speechless.

Jim looked around again and then grabbed the handle on Pam's suitcase, "Let's go inside. Do you have a room?"  
"No, not yet." She laughed, "I didn't really have a plan at all!"

Jim's broad smile was electric. He shook his head and motioned with it towards the elevators "Come on, Beesly," he said, "before you get me in trouble too."

--

Jim was relieved only when he finally closed the door behind him and locked it against the hallway. He'd not seen a single person he recognized on the impossibly long walk from the lobby to his door. Dwight had not been waiting for him anywhere, which he seriously thought would be the case. And Pam was standing there in the entryway. He watched her with her back to him, oblivious to the attention he lavished upon her. He had never been so happy to see someone in his life.

But there was the inevitable confusion that followed, and the lingering discomfited quality of the silence that enveloped them as they stood on the threshold of Jim's hotel room. All that had happened Friday night was not gone between them; it just made the air they breathed denser and harder to gulp down.

And to top it all off, Jim was having a very hard time _not_ thinking about Karen. _How many more layers are you going to add to this cake before it falls over? _he asked himself. But seeing Karen, recognizing the things that had first attracted him to her – her assertiveness, her drive and ambition, and – why deny it? – the sheer sexiness she exuded – and combining it with the rejection he surely felt from Pam had made him seriously question the sanity of allowing Karen to leave while he was on the phone with Michael outside the lobby doors.

Of course that had all changed the minute he saw Pam, and realized quite quickly that her ruse was all in an effort to see him. His one-track male mind was having a hard time shifting gears, but Jim banished the thoughts and tried to ease his own discomfort by concentrating on the girl in front of him. "So… what brings you to Halifax?"

Pam laughed, kicking off her shoes and walking into the room with timid steps, "I thought that one was pretty obvious, Halpert," she grinned, clutching her purse with both hands in front of her. "I mean, who would really be able to pass up the North American mid-market office supply convention?"

"It's on the top of my list of things to do every year," Jim countered. "Although I hear the lobster is good here, too."

Pam laughed and put a hand to her head, "I don't know what's come over me! I've never done anything this impulsive before. I'm sure I've maxed my credit card already."

Jim motioned for her to have a seat in the room. She chose to perch on the edge of the bed. Jim sat down across from her in the armchair, and he began taking off his shoes.

"You know, I had no idea if you'd even see me," she admitted. "I thought you'd reject me outright. I didn't really have a plan B."

"What would make you think that I'd reject you?"

She shrugged, "Because I've done it to your three times now. It's time for me to get mine."

Jim shook his head, still feeling her stinging words from Friday night. "You really think I'm that mean?"

"I don't know."

"Well Beesly, after working together this long, you really should."

She laughed. There was a long silence. Jim took off his second shoe and tossed them both towards the door. His feet were killing him and he wanted nothing more than to lie down. But with Pam on one of the beds, and things between them being what they were, he felt more self-conscious than ever about making any kind of move that might suggest his comfort level was other than what it was.

"What's going on between us?"

Jim didn't even recognize the voice as his own, and it startled him. He hadn't intended on bringing things to a head so quickly, and the words he spoke were intended for his inner monologue only. But the carefully constructed dam of propriety he'd built around himself had broken and the river of his thoughts had nothing holding them back anymore. There was no stopping it.

Pam looked shocked, but he thought she looked as if she expected it. "What do you mean?"

"What does it mean that you're here?"

Pam took a long time to consider her reply. "Jim, I made a mistake on Friday. I knew it was a mistake the moment I left your house, but I stupidly and angrily drove home because my pride… or something else equally stupid got in the way of me doing the right thing." Jim knew her _mea culpa_ was more for her benefit, and if he could have visited her inside her head, he would have seen that it was the first time she'd spoken aloud about the weekend's events since they'd happened. "I don't know what it was," she continued, "But it drove me right to Roy and that was an even bigger mistake."

Jim felt his stomach tighten; he could imagine what she meant. The reasons why any girl had been able to elicit such a strong physical response from him had long escaped him. He'd never felt so invested, and thus so jealous, in any relationship he'd been in. It truthfully scared him, and made him wonder at times what separated his passions from Roy's where Pam was concerned.

And then she looked at him, and the act alone was enough to calm the frayed ends of Jim's nerves like a balm. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"But then I got your message. I sat up all night, Jim, feeling so stupid and dishonest, and then I got the photo you sent. Everything just crystallized in that moment and…,"

Her eyes were watery; when she blinked to clear them, a tear spilled over her lower lashes. Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wondering whether he should comfort her or let her finish. But she wiped her eyes and rubbed the tip of her nose with her index finger, then reached over to the bedside table behind her for a tissue before continuing.

"When Roy re-proposed to me Thursday night, I said yes but it wasn't true. I don't want to marry him anymore." She was balling up and unfolding the tissue in her hands. Jim could see they were shaking. "I don't care about him the way a wife should care about a husband. I can't remember one good reason why we should be together. For me to want to wait on us–," she motioned between herself and Jim, "in order to see if things change for Roy and I… it's the stupidest thing…."

Jim could hardly contain his elation. Trembling with happiness, he clasped his hands together and pushed down on his knees with his elbows to keep them from quivering.

"That's what I started thinking about on Friday when I was drawing your hand. I was bored, so I started sketching. And you have unbelievably sensual hands, Jim. Almost erotic. It was hard to draw your fingers and not imagine them…," she blushed suddenly and looked down again, "…anyway… the way I felt about your _hands,_ Jim… just your _hands_… I hadn't felt that way about any part of anyone else's body, let alone someone else's _whole_ _being_. Before I knew it, I was writing what you and Roy saw that night." She paused to wipe her eyes. "I was going to tell you how I felt when the time was right, and I hoped that you still felt the same, but I couldn't do anything about it until I got to your house after… ."

Jim looked down at his hands. He had never looked at them as sensual before; hearing Pam describe them as such made him shudder.

Once again, Pam's voice broke into his solitary thoughts. "I'm stupid, Jim. I'm naïve and I make mistakes like everyone else. But if you still want to try, with me, I mean… ."

Jim couldn't resist any longer. He stood up and walked over to where Pam was sitting, lifted her hands, and hoped she'd look up at him.

"Beesly," he said, his voice strangled in his throat, "Pam… you could be ten times stupider, ten times more naïve, and make ten times the mistakes ten times bigger, and I would still be utterly, entirely in love with you."

Pam's face contorted as she cried, and she extracted a hand from Jim's grasp so she could cover her face. Jim knelt down in front of her, kissing her other hand.

"Don't cry," Jim said, his voice low.

Pam smiled, then laughed, as more tears streamed down her cheeks. She made no effort to stop them. "See, and then you go and say something like that… you make loving you so easy to do."

He smiled and kissed her gently, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close and letting him melt against her warmth. He pulled away once, to look into her eyes and make sure she was still there, so unbelievable was the turn of events that had just occurred.

"So did you rehearse all that, or was it impulse too?"  
She grinned, "A little of both, I think." She kissed him again, "But I meant every word."

--

The midnight maritime sky over Halifax harbour was inky and seemed to blot out the stars Jim knew should be shining down on him. He stared out of the window, past his own reflection and that of the woman sleeping in the bed behind him, and focused on the masts of the schooners and yachts moored in the water.

Hours earlier, he had torn himself from Pam's warm embrace and admitted his deep-seated fear that she would reject him again. Pam had protested, kissing him but after Jim explained himself, she seemed to understand. He – painfully, reluctantly – asked her to wait 24 hours before they went any further.

"I couldn't deal with it if you left me again," he'd told her.

"Let's sleep on it," she suggested. So she did. She slept on the bed nearest to the door, and he had stayed up in the other bed watching television. But the buzzing temptation, made painfully clear to him just under his khakis, wouldn't dissipate. He briefly considered waking Dwight up, just for the distraction it would provide. But in the end, he did what any other man in his situation would do, not really caring that a bathroom door was all that separated him from the love of his life. Following that with a frigid shower, Jim stayed up and wondered how he could ensure that Pam would still love him in the warm light of day. So he perched the complimentary pad of notepaper on his knees and began to write, as the soft sounds of Pam's sleeping sighs filled the room.


	10. Collecting Moments One by One

**A/N: This is by far my favourite chapter so far. I literally rewrote everything I had from this point on (which wasn't much but it's taken me four hours to do it!) so I could make this perfect. It's the longest chapter, but it's worth it -- you'll see. And it all fell into place so beautifully that nothing could be left out. Chapter title is inspired by the Feist song "Mushaboom" from her album _Let it Die_. I highly recommend listening to the songs mentioned in this chapter as you read it. I hope you like it! More to come very soon!! :)**

* * *

When Pam awoke the next morning, sunlight suffused the room and it took her a moment to realize where she was. Stretching out, she rubbed her eyes and looked around, her eyes finally settling on a small vase on the table next to the bed. She reached over for her glasses, and when she finally put them on, the scene came into sharp focus. A single stemmed daisy greeted her with its bright smile, and as she saw the folded note leaning against the vase, she returned the gesture. The note was short and sweet, written on hotel stationary:

_Pam,_

_I am in meetings and on the trade show floor all day. But you'll be thinking of me all day, I promise. Call the front desk. Breakfast is on its way._

_Jim_

So Pam called the front desk, intrigued. The cheerful voice on the other end seemed to be expecting her call, for she knew her name.

"Good morning, Miss Beesly. Your breakfast is coming right up."

Pam smiled and took a moment to straighten herself up and put on her robe. The knock from room service came too quickly and she raced to the door to let them in. As she was setting down the silver tray on the edge of the bed, the young woman winked at Pam. "Keep him, honey."

"Did he pay you to say that?" Pam asked.

"No," she replied, "But any man who goes through the trouble to do all this is a great catch." She began to push her cart back out through the door, pausing as she neared the doorway. "Plus, he's cute."

Pam laughed. _He certainly is_, she thought to herself as she skipped over to the tray and lifted the lid. Underneath was a single container of mixed berries yogurt and a small sealed envelope. Pam wanted to cry. How Jim had gone through the trouble of setting it all up was beyond her, and it was overwhelming. She briefly considered calling him, but knew it was part of the game and that she would have to wait. Before she tore into the yogurt, she opened the envelope. In Jim's masculine hand was hard to mistake; he titled the list in front of her "Top Ten All-Time Things To Get You Through a Lazy Tuesday". Only #1, #2, and #3 were written on the page. The first bullet instructed Pam to eat breakfast. #2 was apologetic.

_Pam_

_I know it's not enough to just have yogurt for breakfast. So when you're done consuming this fine mixture of bacterially fermented milk… get dressed. You should find my iPod in your shoe. It is pre-loaded with the music and lyrics of some of Canada's finest musical talent. When you leave the hotel and walk onto the street, task #2 is to press play and walk down the street away from the harbour. When the first song is over, you should be standing next to a bakery on the corner. (Make sure you pause the song.) Task #3 is to ask the baker if you can help him make his daily batch of éclairs. Buy one and enjoy._

_More instructions to follow._

Pam held the letter to her chest and rolled over to bury her face in the comforter. Nothing made sense to her at the moment, but she reasoned that it wasn't supposed to, that Jim would bring it all together in the end. She would follow the list to a 'T', just because he had asked her to. And in trusting Jim, she knew it was going to be a good day.

--

Pam was sitting in the small artisan bakery café, enjoying an éclair she had made herself with the help of a baker named Etienne, and taking small sips of the most delicious cappuccino she had ever tasted. The song Jim had picked – a happy, east coast flavoured romp by Great Big Sea called "Ordinary Day" – was playing around and around in her head. She still had no idea what task #4 was going to be, but she waited patiently for whatever she was supposed to be waiting for.

Finally, Etienne walked over to clear her plate from the table. Pam reached into her purse and was about to pull out money to pay for her meal and the experience, when Etienne rested his pudgy baker's hand on hers.

"No no no," he said, "The young man has taken care of it all. He has left this for you," he winked at Pam. "A beautiful day for a beautiful lady."

Pam blushed and looked down at the envelope on the table. A smile crept onto her lips as she tore into the seal and read Jim's words again.

_Pam,_

_Now that you've really enjoyed your breakfast, you have the energy to walk again. This is your 4__th__ task. I want you to go out onto the sidewalk again. Press play on the iPod and head north out of the bakery. When Joni tells you about the rainbow she saw on the wall, look to your right. You should see a used bookstore. Go inside and scour the shelves for a well-loved copy of the book The Lover's Watch by Aphra Behn, noted female English Restoration playwright extraordinaire. Turn to page 15._

_Jim_

Intrigued, Pam got up from her seat and began the walk to the bookstore.

--

Pam stepped inside the bookstore and turned off the iPod, silencing Joni Mitchell as she crooned about colours in "Chelsea Morning". The first thing Pam noticed was the suncatcher in the window of the bookstore. As the mornng sun shone in the window and reflected its light through a beautiful and brightly coloured windchimes in the shape of seashells, Pam smiled. Taking in the scent of leather and lavender as she inhaled, Pam looked around her. It was in an old building, separated in half by a staircase that led to a second level of books. The walls were lined with bookcases and thousands of books, new and old, spilled out in the most haphazard, delightful manner. She promptly commenced browsing, searching through the fiction shelves for the book Jim was referring to.

She found it on the second shelf near the back of the store on the second level. It was a small volume, not even 100 pages in length, and it looked quite old. Opening the front cover, she found it to have been published in 1885. She had never held anything that old before. It gave her shivers. The binding creaked when she opened it and held it open with her pinky while she gingerly leafed through the pages to the one she wanted. As she did, a small piece of notepaper fell out to her feet. She bent down to pick it up, but didn't read it right away; her eyes were drawn to the page, where she gleaned enough about the story to catch Jim's intention right away, and she smiled. Someone – possibly Jim – had underlined one of the passages with a pencil. Pam read out loud in a whispery, sing-song voice:

"Every hour is tedious to a lover separated from his mistress; and to show you how good I am, I will have my watch instruct you to pass some of them without inquietude, that the force of your imagination may sometimes charm that trouble you have for my absence."

With a lopsided grin, Pam opened the folded note. She wasn't surprised to find that it was from Jim.

_Pammaroo,_

_Short story shorter: Iris instructs Damon on how to spend his time in each of the hours they are apart, in case he should get it in his mind to stray while she is away. Don't worry, I trust you. But at least you're thinking of me. #5 on your task list is to go next door and ask to pick up an order under my name; #6 is to find singing seashells in every colour of the rainbow. Feel free to reverse the order of operations if necessary._

_Big Tuna_

Knowing that Jim had been in the store that morning, had written the note and sought out such a perfect book in which Pam should find her next clue, and that he had noticed the same windchimes – the singing seashells – made Pam tingle inside. She hurried down the stairs, book in hand, and asked if she could buy the windchimes. The salesgirl behind the counter smiled knowingly. "You must be Pam," she said, ringing in the book and the chimes. It almost made Pam want to cry.

Items in hand, Pam floated next door to the flower shop.

"I'm here to pick up an order for Jim Halpert," she said confidently. Moments later, she was holding a bouquet of multi-coloured roses in her arms, all of them in full bloom. Once again, the order was paid for. But another surprise greeted her when the man behind the counter presented her with a white box, with an envelope taped to the lid. Curious, she retreated to the bench outside the store, whereupon opening the envelope, she found another note.

_Pam,_

_Task #7: There are 13 roses in this bouquet. I want you to give 12 of them away to people you meet on the street; keep the nicest one for yourself. You must give one to a woman with blond hair, one to an older gentleman in a hat, one to a pair of young lovers, and one to a child. The rest can be given away as you see fit. You also must document each gift; open the box._

_J_

So Pam did. Inside was a disposable camera. Underneath it was a second envelope, with #8 written on the front, above strict directions not to open the envelope until the last rose was given away. With a chuckle, Pam closed the lid on the box and set out on her journey.

--

An hour later, Pam had given away all but the last rose, and had documented each one. Most people were surprised at Pam's request, but they were generally very happy to oblige. The older gentleman had posed with the pink rose she gave him stuck in the brim of his houndstooth cap; the woman with the blond hair struck a pose with the yellow rose between her teeth. The little girl Pam found held it like a balloon; Pam gave the girl's mom one too. It had been such a wonderful experience, and Pam felt so uplifted, that she forgot about the second envelope taped to the bottom of the box. She opened the letter and read its contents as she took a break from walking on a park bench along the harbour.

_Beesly,_

_I trust you have been having an enjoyable day so far. While I have been stuck in meetings, you have been gallivanting around Halifax, buying things and eating things and reading things and giving things away. Now, for #8, do something nice for yourself. There is a boutique around the block from the National Citadel Historical site. Go there and buy yourself a beautiful dress to wear tonight._

_Halpert_

Pam had no idea where the citadel was, so she asked. The first person pointed down the street and indicated that she was only a few blocks away. She set off again, her feet starting to ache, but the shop wasn't far away. It looked fancy and chic but also very trendy. At first glance, she didn't think any of the dresses inside would be suitable. But after introducing herself to the salesgirls inside, they coyly told her that they knew which dress would be the right one. From behind the counter, they pulled a beautiful yellow sundress, slightly flared at the knee, as bright as the daisy's centre sitting on Pam's nightstand at the hotel.

"Jim picked it out this morning," the first salesgirl told her.

"He has great taste," Pam lightly fingered the dress. It was in her size; she tried it on and it fit like a glove. As she went to pay for it, she discovered that Jim had beat her to the punch again. And when the salesgirl handed her the bag, she slipped yet another envelope into Pam's hand. With a sigh, Pam opened it and found her next task.

_Pamela,_

_Take #9: You are about two city blocks from one of the most beautiful places in Halifax, in my opinion. Turn on the iPod again – I hope you haven't been cheating and listening to it when I didn't tell you to! Press play and walk west. When the song changes, you should be there. You'll know it when you see it._

_James_

So Pam did as she was told. The first song – by Bedouin Soundclash, it was a reggae inspired pop song called "When The Night Feels My Song", that made Pam want to dance – brought her to the edge of the Public Gardens. The second song, by Halifax native Feist, entitled "Mushaboom", took her to the edge of a beautiful lake. She had a few pictures left on her camera, and knew she was supposed to use them up here. As she viewed the lake through the viewfinder, she spotted a tree that hung down into the lake, and a bench sitting underneath it. A small package dangled from the arm of the bench. She approached, thinking that there was no way Jim could have left something like this in the middle of a park. But hers was not to question how; she saw the ribbon and the envelope, with Pam's name written on the front in Jim's handwriting, and she opened it up to read.

_Miss Beesly_,

_I hope you are enjoying the view. I walked through this park this morning and decided this is where you should end your adventure. One day, I'd like to sit here with you on this park bench and watch the ducks and talk with you about whatever you want to talk about. But for now, you must content yourself with the knowledge that in a few hours, you and I will embark on a date to end all dates. Your 10__th__ task of the day, then, is to return to the hotel room and take the perfect bath before getting ready for that date. I will call you at 5 o'clock. You'd better be ready, Beesly._

_Happily yours,_

_Mr. Halpert_

He signed his name with a smiley face. Pam sat for a while, watching the lake and enjoying the crisp autumn afternoon. Then, with her bags in hand and every letter from Jim safely tucked away inside her purse, she began the trek back to the hotel.

--

At 4:55pm, Pam stood in front of the full-length mirror in the hotel room admiring her new dress. She put effort into tousling her hair into soft waves instead of a curly mass, and spent a full forty-five minutes doing her makeup. It had been hard to concentrate. She was giddy from the excitement of her day, and dreamy from the bath. Jim had had a basket of bubble bath and rose petals brought up to the room, and had been cheeky enough to write down step-by-step instructions for how to run the bath and what to do once she was in there. It had made her laugh and blush and remember just how lucky she was to be there.

As the clock shifted over to 5pm, Pam's phone rang. _Right on time_, she thought. The butterflies in her stomach took flight as she flipped open the phone to talk to Jim for the first time all day.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I'm looking for a Miss Pamela Beesly," Jim tried to disguise his voice with an awful British accent.

She smiled, "Oh, she's stepped away for a moment, may I take a message."

"That would be agreeable," he said, "If you could relay the message that her gentleman friend will be expecting her in the hotel lobby presently, I would be most grateful."

"Consider it done," she smiled as she flipped her phone closed, took a deep breath, and walked out of the room, more confident and feeling happier than she'd felt in a long time.


	11. Je Vois La Vie en Rose

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from "La Vie en Rose" by Edith Piaf (the version I imagined them dancing to is sung by French chanteuse Madeleine Peyroux.**

* * *

Jim was nervous as he stood in the lobby, talking with the ladies behind the counter. They knew who he was and who he was waiting for – the entire staff of the hotel knew what Jim had been up to. As he waited, they gossiped, sneaking glances at him in between helping customers and giggling as they spoke about him, the perfect boyfriend standing at the end of the counter with his eyes on the elevators.

"Is she late?" one asked him curiously after watching him for several minutes.

"She'd better not be," Jim tried to joke.

"She won't be," the second lady replied. "Not after all you've done."

Jim eyed her seriously. "You think so?"

"Honey," she leaned towards him and lowered her voice, "If my boyfriend did half of what you did for her…."

"Yeah, but my girl's got a guy back home who still thinks he and she are a they," Jim said, indicating to what was left of the bruise on his face.

"Won't be for long," the first woman said with a smile.

He'd shaken his head and tried to banish the thoughts crowding his mind. He'd turned down the dinner invitation from the other regional managers, had been careful not to parlay any negotiations with potential clients into drinks later on – which had led to Jim closing two rather significant deals quite quickly early on in the day – had been successful in convincing Dwight to track down Josh Porter _and_ in persuading the camera crew to follow Dwight instead of him that night, all of which led left Jim free and clear as he waited for his and Pam's first date to begin. It hadn't been easy – he'd sneaked out on his lunch break to set up the note in the park and arrange the spa products in the room.

_That's not all you did at lunch,_ Jim reminded himself as he felt inside his breast pocket for the item he had impulsively purchased on his walk back to the hotel. His hand trembled as he felt it there, and he shook his hand out before clenching a fist to stop the tremors altogether. _I just hope they're right… ._

The elevator chimed and Jim looked over. When he saw her walking towards him, in that sunflower yellow dress he'd bought for her that morning, he was glad he'd taken the trouble to do everything right and knew he would have waited another lifetime just to see her like that again. He grinned as she approached him, her flats clicking on the polished tile floor, holding back the impulse to pick her up in his arms and take her right back upstairs again. The urge was almost irrepressible, but he nervously scratched his ear, pleased with his performance, and shoved his hands into his pants pockets for effect. "I'm sorry Miss, I'm waiting for someone. If she sees me with you, she'll think we're having an affair."

Pam's smile lit up the lobby, dashing from ear to ear on her round face. "We wouldn't want that, now, would we?"

Jim flashed her his pick-up smile. "On a side-note, what are your _after _dinner plans for tonight?"

Pam feigned shock, "That easy, huh?"

_Trust me_, Jim thought. _You could knock me over with a feather right now. _Putting on his best eastern Canadian accent, Jim smiled, "Ye cuts a fine figger, Beesly."

She gave a slight curtsy. "You clean up quite nicely yourself."

He straightened his tie with mock affectation.

"How was your day?" she asked.

Jim grinned, "Fine dear, how was yours?"

"Perfect," she said with a nod, "Busy, though."

"I needed to keep you busy, figured this was the best way. It's getting harder and harder for a guy to prove his love for a girl nowadays, you know that?"

Pam took a step closer then and kissed Jim softly on the lips. The move took Jim by surprise; the Pam Beesly he had met five years earlier would have blushed at her future self's brazen public display of affection. As Jim kissed her back, he noted wryly that the Jim who took Pam to Cugino's for lunch on her first day at Dunder Mifflin, and the Jim was kissed her now in the lobby of a Halifax hotel, would both have heartily approved of the transformation.

When she pulled away, she was smiling, and she cupped his face in her hands. "I haven't changed my mind, Jim."

"Can you blame a bloke for worrying?" he asked.

Pam shrugged, an excited smile on her face. "So, do you have any more surprises for me?"

"I dunno," he said. "It took me all night to come up with those, you know."

"I'll give you all night to think of another one," was Pam's reply.

Jim almost felt like blushing. _Who are you? _He silently asked the woman standing next to him. Sliping his arm under Pam's, he began walking her to the sliding lobby doors. "I like you, Beesly," he said as they strolled into the late afternoon sunshine.

"So let's see," Pam said, licking the last bit of lobster roll filling off of her fingers, "You stay up all night planning an extravagant scavenger hunt… ."

Jim nodded.

"…Spend what I'm assuming to be an ungodly amount of money on things that weren't even for you…," Pam pointed to her dress.

"That _was_ for me, actually, but it looks better on you and I thought you might cry if I took it back, so… ." He shrugged.

Pam cocked her head and smiled, "…And then you cap off what might go down in the annals of the life of Yours Truly as the best day in the history of best days… with lobster meat and mayonnaise on a bun."

Jim looked down at the lobster roll in his hand, then squealed defensively: "I thought it was tasty!"

Pam laughed, "It was! I was just expecting Italian."

Jim shook his head sadly, "Now come on, Beesly. You can't come to the Maritimes and eat _Italian_. Live a little," he hooked his finger inside his napkin and reached over to dab the corner of Pam's lip. "Missed a spot."

"Oh thank you," she spurted out between belly laughs.

They had sought out a street vendor selling lobster rolls for their dinner, had eaten them with a shared side of fries and two giant dill pickles, and washed it all down with fresh squeezed lemonade. Jim regaled Pam with his stories from the convention floor, while she told him about her adventures on the streets of Halifax. After months of awkwardness and feeling separated from one another, dinner on the park bench was quite pleasant despite Pam's protestations to the contrary. Jim could see her relaxing and enjoying herself in a way he'd only seen before when Roy was not around. Her newfound confidence was incredibly attractive.

"Speaking of which," Jim said.

"Of what?" Pam interrupted.

Jim realized he had continued his train of thought verbally, and blushed at the mistake. He shook his head, "I just wanted to say that you look really nice tonight."

Pam glanced down at herself and then flipped her carefully styled hair over her shoulder, "This old thing?" she said with a fake sneer.

Jim laughed, "Oh all right, I see how it is."

She cooed and laughed in sympathy, then reached over and squeezed his hand. _There it is,_ Jim thought. The intimacy between them had scarcely risen above hand-holding. Pam might have been up for making out in the middle of the hotel lobby, but Jim was at a loss for how to behave. Here he was in the midst of new love, but the object of his affections happened to be his best friend. _Maybe it's as if nothing has changed_, Jim realized, _except I get to kiss her now. Maybe this is what it's like when your lover is your best friend_. He squeezed her hand back and watched in tender amazement as his beautiful Pam twirled her hair around her finger, delighting in the hope that for the rest of his life, he'd be the only person allowed to see her like this. It made him dizzy.

They had strolled around for a while afterwards, and there was so much to do that they didn't notice the evening slowly drifting towards night. They indulged their fancies, posing for the last few pictures on the disposable camera Jim gave to Pam that morning, buying trinkets, and acting as if they were on vacation instead of stealing time out of a business trip and work obligations to be with one another. It was getting on in the evening when Jim suggested they start heading back.

"I don't want this day to be over, Jim."

"It's only 8 o'clock."

Pam's yawn suggested that 'only 8 o'clock' meant nothing to her. "I feel like I've been up forever, and yet… ."

"What?" Jim asked.

"I feel so alive. I'm dead on my feet and I'm more alive now than I've ever been."

"What have you been doing for the last twenty odd years then?" Jim asked.

Pam grinned, "I'd call it existing. Whatever it is, it doesn't compare to _this_." She looked around. There was music playing from a small café, its light spilling out into the street like warm butter. "Have you ever felt like you were inside a painting?"

Jim shook his head, "'Fraid not."

Pam just shrugged. "Right now, I feel like I'm in an impressionist painting, a Monet or a Renoir. All day today, the world's looked just like a watercolour." She looked at him, "I'm afraid if I blink it will disappear."

"It won't," Jim reassured her, trailing his hand down her arm and making her skin prickle with goosebumps. He took her hand in his, "But just to be safe, let's keep it going." He was holding her hand tightly now, and had spun around to face her.

"Dance with me."

Pam looked confused, but she heard the music – a lovely version of the classic song "La Vie en Rose". Her confusion died away. "Here?" she asked, "Right now?"

"Why not?" Jim replied, "Come on, it'll be fun."

Pam smiled and reached out to him. Jim guided her left hand to his shoulder. Then, pressing lightly and intimately into the small of her back, he began to sway with her in the middle of the street, in the warmth of the café light and the setting rays of the maritime sun. They swayed in silence. Jim's fingers flexed just a little bit, urging Pam a little closer to him; she leaned her head against his chest, nestling just under his chin. Jim knew he was grinning like a fool.

"It's a pretty song," she said, aware that he was studying her.

"Probably. If I knew what she was saying…."

Pam grinned. "Many nights of never ending love… a great delight comes to her… all the bad things in her life disappear and she's happy to die in love."

Jim nodded, "Must be some guy."

"Shut up," Pam laughed, playfully swatting him with her hand.

"I didn't know you speak French."

"A little," Pam said. The next verse began, and she listened carefully, continuing the story.

"When he takes me in his arms… when he whispers to me…," she looked up at Jim, speechless for a moment as she tried to translate. Nothing seemed to work. She bit her lip and shrugged. "…_Je vois la vie en rose_."

The words were beautiful in French; on Pam's lips they were transcendent. Jim stood in awe, his hands wrapped around her waist, holding her closer to him than he ever imagined he would, even a few days before. "I've always wondered what that part means?"

"It's… idiomatic…," she struggled to speak. Her eyes never left Jim's

"No, I know what it translates to. But what does it _mean_, I always wondered? To see life in pink…."

"I think it's like being in a watercolour," she said slowly, with the weighty finality that such poignant statements ought to have. He wished he could freeze frame and hold onto the moment forever. But the song had ended with a flourish of the violin. A small crowd had formed on the sidewalk and they had begun to clap. Almost before it had begun, the moment was over. He'd blinked. Still, they stood staring into each other's eyes for a long time, wondering what to do next.

Finally, Jim heard Pam's voice, shaking and uncertain. "Jim, I want to… ."

He didn't need to hear the rest, because he knew what she was going to say. "So do I," he replied, lowering his voice to a husky whisper and flattening his hand against the svelte curve of her lower back, pressing her closer to him.

She smiled, lifting herself up on her tiptoes. She kissed Jim on the cheek, on the tip of his nose, on his closed eyelids, on his chin.

"So this is what you want? Truly?" Jim asked between kisses.

The only thing Pam had to do was nod, and he had her hand in his and they were flying across the street. And as he walked on in a state of euphoria, Jim noticed that the world around him had taken on the soft pink hue of sunset. The romantic in him wondered if the soft strains of the violin from the song and the feeling of Pam in his arms – his pure euphoria at the moments he and Pam were creating – were making him see _la vie en rose _after all. He squeezed Pam's hand and slowed down so she could catch up. He wanted to tell her that he saw – he _knew_ – but instead he kept on, with her at his side, laughing and wondering if they'd ever make it back to their room.


	12. To Be Alone With You

**A/N: Finally! The moment we've all been waiting for... with a few twists and surprises. Is it over yet? You tell me. If you want to read more, I can write more. If you want me to wrap it up, I can wrap it up. I'd love to write more, but I don't want to bore you all if you're not enjoying it or would rather see a quick end. It's up to you!  
**

**Chapter title borrowed from Sufjan (again!). The song is called "To Be Alone With You", and it's from the album _Seven Swans_. Enjoy!!  
**

* * *

As they entered the darkened hotel room, shutting the door behind them with a soft 'click', Jim's arms found their way around Pam and she molded herself to his embrace. The urgency of her body pressed to his forced him back against the wall and she kissed him with such passion Jim felt his face flush in the dark. They fumbled around, trying to kick off their shoes. Pam's hands pulled down on Jim's jacket and before it even 'swished' to the floor, she was already at work loosening his tie.

They tripped over each other and held on for dear life trying to cross the room in the dark without crashing into anything. Pam kept stepping on Jim's toes, breaking their lip lock to mutter an apology now and again. Jim chuckled against her lips. Finally, they tumbled onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her over so she was on top of him. And in the process, she cracked her shin against the nighstand.

With a yelp, she pushed herself up so she was sitting on her knees. Jim flinched as she narrowly avoided pressing her knee into his groin.

"What happened?" he asked, out of breath.

"Oh I hit my leg on the damn night table!" Pam cursed.

Jim bit back a laugh and pushed himself up on his elbows, just as Pam reached over and flicked on the lamp. She was sitting, slightly dishevelled but radiant as ever, holding her shin, which was red and looked painful but wasn't bleeding. Jim grinned at her.

"Next time be more careful," he warned.

She swatted him, "You're the one who picked me up!" she winced, "It really hurts!"

Now Jim was laughing uncontrollably. He pressed his fist to his mouth to stifle it, but it was no use. Pam, almost losing control of her giggles herself, had leapt back on top of him, trying in vain to beat him up. Jim quickly got the upper hand after a few moments of playful wresting. He grabbed Pam by the wrists and pushed her back down on the bed, pinning her arms above her head.

For a brief moment, Pam kept grinning. It soon gave way to a look of panic. What she sobbed next sent a shiver down Jim's spine.

"No, Roy…."

Jim quickly let go of her wrists the moment she began to struggle against his hold. She lay there, panting, her face drained of all colour and she stared up at the ceiling before closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Then she slowly rolled away.

"I'm sorry Jim."

"Pam, I didn't mean… ." They spoke at the same time.

"I know," she said, waving her hand up across her forehead to brush a lock of stray hair out of her eyes, "it's not that. It's… I'll be right back," she said, as she padded softly over to the washroom.

Jim sat there, staring after her, wondering what had just happened, when he heard a knock on the door separating his room from Dwight's. Startled, Jim raced over to answer it before he could come in.

"Jim, are you in there?" Dwight's voice came muffled through the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here."

Dwight pushed open the door and Jim stopped it with his foot so it stayed open only a foot. "Is everything okay? I heard screaming."

"Yeah, it's fine."

There was a pause. "Are you with a woman?"

Jim would have laughed if he wasn't so concerned. "Maybe Dwight."

Another pause. "Well if you don't know, Jim… ."

"God Dwight, yes, okay, I'm with a woman."

Dwight nodded. "Did you bring… prophylactics?"

"Dwight… ."

Dwight nodded. "Have a good night, Jim."

"You too, Dwight."

He closed the door and leaned against it, heaving a sigh of intense relief, just as the bathroom door opened and Pam crossed the room again to sit on the edge of the bed. Jim joined her after locking both doors and propping a chair up against the room dividing one just in case.

He sat next to Pam, "What's wrong?"  
She shrugged. "I haven't been with anyone other than Roy. I don't know what came over me, probably force of habit…."

Jim reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Pam. We don't have to do anything."

"But I want to!" she said, "I'm a little embarrassed about the way I've been acting. I'm not usually this forward. Roy usually does all the pushing and prodding… ."

Jim, once again, felt his hackles raise at the mere mention of his rival. "Pam, why did you get scared when I grabbed your wrists?"

She shrugged, "I don't know."

"But you said his name." Jim provoked her.

She forced a smile, "I've never been with anyone else… ."

"Pam, did he ever force you…?"

Pam blushed, "I don't know if that's any of your business, Jim."

"Pam, I just want to know how I can make you feel better…."

With her shoulders hunched over and her hair in her face, Jim was reminded of the Pam he'd seen whenever Roy walked into the office. After seeing her glow so vibrantly over the last 24 hours, the old Pam's return almost broke Jim's heart.

He continued, "…And I would never, ever, force you to do something you didn't want to do."

Pam was still blushing. "I know that, Jim."

"And I'm not Roy."

"I _know_, Jim." She sounded angry but Jim didn't care.

He reached over, extending his index finger and touching it lightly to her chin. "No, you need to know this," he whispered. "I am _not _Roy."

"Why do you keep saying that?" she moaned, tears forming in her eyes as she lifted hers to meet his.

"Because you need to know that. Look at me," he said. He took her hand and put it to his face so she could feel him. She let her fingers bury themselves in the hair behind his ear, then trace the line of his cheekbone, up and around his eyes, where she brushed over his brows and down the straight line of his wide nose. Her finger lingered a little on his lips and he kissed the tip. "Look at me," he repeated, moving her hand down the side of his neck and down his chest until she could feel his heart beating under his tousled dress shirt. "It's me, Pam. It's Jim. I'm Jim."

She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over her cheeks and down onto her beautiful new dress, the one he'd bought for her. She brought her other hand up to his chest, pressed them together. Then she shuffled over slowly and replaced her hands with her head, leaning against his broad chest. Jim's wrapped one arm around her back and brought the other up to her head.

"I know who you are," she said softly. "You're the man I've been cheating on every time I've ever gone home with my fiancé." She paused. "It's always been you, Jim."

It was exactly what Jim had always wanted to hear. He was overcome with emotion as he rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, forcing the tears away.

"I never want to hurt you," he murmured into her hair. "I just want to be with you. However that happens. I just want to be with you."

She pushed away from him and cupped his face in his hands, "I'm sorry, Jim. I've been such a mess. I really do want this… ."

He gulped back and kissed her forehead. "Let's just take it slow then."

"Baby steps," she said with a nod.

"Absolutely," he whispered, looking to her for permission to begin. She nodded briskly and Jim caught her face in his hands. "Slow, honey."

Jim traced her lips with his thumb and she closed her eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers so gently she barely felt him there. Unhurried, Pam parted her lips and invited him in; as his tongue explored her, she let her hands roam across his chest and over his shoulders. He didn't press on; instead, he broke away. Pam let out a surprised gasp as Jim left her hungering and traced a line of kisses down her throat to her collarbone.

Pam reached over and began to undo his tie and loosen the buttons on his shirt. Still kissing her neck, Jim slid his hands down each side of her body until he was resting on her hips. His tie hung down around his neck and the top four buttons were undone. He slowed her hands down, helping her to linger at the button hole, all the way down the shirt until it was open. When she made a move to start unzipping the back of her dress, Jim stilled her hands, preferring to do it himself. It was torture for Pam, waiting for him to move the zipper clasp all the way down her back. She stood up – slowly – and let the dress fall around her ankles. Jim removed his shirt and tossed it to the floor; he noticed Pam curling her toes nervously.

He reached over and took her hand, sensing her discomfort instantly. "You're beautiful," he said, running the back of his hand over her smooth belly.

She blushed and sat back down in front of him, leaning back on her elbows and pushing herself back into the pillows. Jim leaned forward until he was hovering over her; then he kissed her again. Raking her fingers through his hair, Pam forgot her modesty and pushed her hips up to meet his; she loosed her fingers from his hair and began to pull and tug at his belt buckle.

"Pam," Jim whispered, "Pam… why hurry?"

Her voice was deep, sexy. "Because I'm going to explode."

Jim smiled as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, brushing his lips over her throat, delighting in the feel of Pam's body as she shivered from excitement. Within moments, and after a few quick motions, not a shred of material separated Pam's body from Jim's.

Pam felt her hands dart up to cover her breasts, but as Jim ran his hand down the side of her face, looking straight into her eyes, she relaxed. Very casually, Jim pulled down the blanket cover underneath Pam's reclining body; she lifted herself up and got under the sheets, and Jim soon joined her. He was resting on his hands, poised above her, and she felt a slight panic again. Jim kissed her slowly.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"Turn out the light?"

"Absolutely," he said, reaching over to flick the switch. The glow from the streetlights slanted in through the curtains, casting Jim's angular features in sharp divisions of light and shadow. As he looked down to Pam, her face softened by the moonlight, he found himself struck again at how beautiful she was, and marvelled at how he'd managed to contain himself this long.

Pam's hands moved underneath the blankets. As her hands circled him, Jim groaned and closed his eyes.

"Slow," she repeated his words back to him. He lowered himself onto his elbow and brushed Pam's hair out of her face with his free hand.

"As slow as you want," he said. He suddenly felt self-conscious. He had a good feeling that Roy wasn't a sex god, but what if he didn't measure up to what she'd had before? "Pam?" he started, "I can't promise anything… ."

It was her turn now. She placed a tentative kiss on his lips, "Ssh. I'll meet you here when you get back," she spoke against him as she guided him inside her.

With crushing sweetness, Jim's mouth claimed Pam's. It was enough to make any one lose control.


	13. Who Put These Bodies Between Us?

**A/N: So I guess I'm going with it! I have a new direction for the plot that will carry us through for a good number of chapters yet. It won't be all moons and Junes and ferris wheels for our heroes yet... I figure we should throw into a real pickle and see if their love is strong enough to withstand it. But like I promised before -- it will have a happy ending. :)**

**Song title borrowed from the song "Calculation Theme" by Metric.**

* * *

Pam had cute pyjamas. It was a strange thing for Jim to think of as he lay awake next to her, propped up on one elbow, watching her sleep, but it had been Pam who suggested it first. It had been so adorable when she'd gotten out of bed afterwards and hurried to the bathroom to change for bed, Jim didn't know what to say. Now he'd seen Pam in just about everything. _And nothing_, he grinned. And that was the difference between Karen and Pam. With Karen, he had never really been sure if he was getting the real deal or if it was all an act designed to entice, and he was inclined to believe the latter; with Pam, there had never been any doubt about who she was. He knew where she stood, and he hoped she knew the same about him. Karen had had cute pyjamas too, but he'd never seen them _on_ her. He'd seen them hanging in her closet, or thrown in a heap on the floor. But she never wore them around him, always preferring to wear work clothes on dates, and sexy lingerie to bed.

_Why are you thinking about Karen?_ Jim scolded himself. He had everything he wanted sleeping right next to him, and still his mind was wandering back to his ex, who only the night before had walked the same streets he and Pam had sojourned that evening. His mind traversed to Pam's words to him "_You're the man I was cheating on..." _she'd told him. Truth be told, he'd felt the same way with Karen, like he was being unfaithful to Pam. He was also being unfaithful to Karen, he realized, because his heart had never been in their relationship so long as Pam was around. Why, then, with everything he had ever wanted literally within his grasp, sleeping soundly on the pillow next to him, was he daydreaming about someone else?

_When I was with Karen,_ Jim thought_, I never had to guess where I stood in her eyes. Maybe it's a sign that I didn't love her enough, but Karen never broke my heart. _For everything Pam was, up until that moment decisiveness was not one of her strong suits; twice he'd been turned down in favour of Roy, a man with a temper and not much else going for him as far as he could tell. Jim had always thought the problem was with him, that he somehow didn't measure up to Roy. Now he wondered if it was because Pam feared committing to him. Would he always have to worry about that?

He wrapped his arm a little tighter around Pam's midsection, spooning up behind her and resting his head back on the pillow. She stirred, mumbled in her sleep. He could have sworn he heard her say "Dunder Mifflin" and shook his head with a smile at the mere thought that the drudgery of her workday infiltrated her dreamlife as well. He stared at the ceiling and tried to calm his whirring mind. It was midnight. Pam's Lazy Tuesday had ended; she was still there. He closed his tired eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.

--

Jim had beautiful eyelashes. Pam had never noticed it before, but she'd also never gotten this good a look at them before. They were long, a fringe of darkness splaying out against his cheek. She stayed awake for an hour, watching him. He looked so different. One would never imagine that he was the same person who put Dwight's stapler in Jell-O, or was the person who had sent "gaydar" to the office to help Michael in his quest to out every homosexual at Dunder Mifflin. He looked younger and more innocent in his sleep, his boyish good looks enhanced by the softness of his features. He sighed in his sleep a lot, his chest trembled with every deep inhalation. Pam found it all terribly surreal. It was like sitting in a puddle of sunshine on a hardwood floor warmed by the light, and not wanting to get up. She cozied down under the comforter, drawing it up over her shoulders, enjoying the feel of Jim's arm around her waist.

She was struck suddenly by how vulnerable sleep was, and how comfortable one would have to be in order to fall asleep next to another. She'd taken it for granted with Roy, but the reality of it hit her hard as she watched Jim mumble in his sleep and wiggle his toes against his legs; the intimacy of that moment -- more intimate, even, than the act they'd just shared -- made Pam tingle inside. She watched him sleep, heard him mutter Dwight's name a few times and tried to mentally sock it away as incriminating evidence to use at a later date. And when she brushed his hair out of his eyes and trailed down his face, even in his dreams his lips moved to kiss her hand. She wondered if he was awake, but he barely stirred and she knew he was still deep in dreams. It was an overwhelming feeling to know that, even in his sleep, he was aware of her presence.

Pam settled back into her pillow. It was 2 am. The lights on the harbour glowed through the window, reminding Pam of her most excellent day. "Good night Jim," she whispered, sure that her gladness was written all over her face.

"Good night Pam," was his reply a moment later.

Love. Unconscious or not, it didn't matter. She hugged him a little tighter and closed her eyes to dream.

--

_Stillness captured them as they relished in afterglow, catching their breath, holding on to each other for dear life. Jim's head rested on Pam's chest, exactly where he'd collapsed as soon as he'd finished. Pam stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head._

_She giggled after a moment. "I guess I should thank you."_

_"For what?"_

_"For doing whatever it is that you did." Pam grinned, "I've never experienced _that _before."_

_"Anytime, Beesly," Jim turned his head slightly to kiss to the top of her breast. _

_"It was actually really nice, Jim," she whispered._

_He found the strength to laugh, "Nice? I've been told many things before, but never has the word 'nice' been used. I mean, amazing, incredible, mind-blowing, 'I-think-I-saw-the-face-of-God'... but never 'nice'."_

_"I'm so terribly sorry that I can't properly express myself right now." Pam joked.  
_

_"Excused."_

_Another giggle._

_"I love it when you laugh," he admitted.  
_

_"You do?"_

_"It's why I continue to work at Dunder Mifflin," he said. _

_"Well you'll be glad to hear that the feeling is most definitely mutual," Pam spoke against the soft dampness of Jim's hair._

_"I know."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"I just do."_

_Suddenly: _"_I'm really sorry, Jim."_

_"For what?"_

_"For keeping you – us, this – waiting."_

_Jim was silent for a long while. "You had some things to sort out."_

_"I know."_

_More silence. More kisses. Pam smiled against his warmth._

_"Pam?"_

_"Mm-hmm?"_

_"Why _did_ you call off your wedding?"_

_Pam paused, straining to look down at Jim. "Well it's pretty obvious, isn't it?"_

_"No, what I mean is… was it because you couldn't be with Roy, or because you wanted to be with me?" _

_"What's the difference?"_

_"There's a big difference," Jim replied._

_"It was… I don't know. Do I need to know?"_

_Jim shrugged, "I don't know," he sighed, "I just don't want to be anyone's consolation prize."_

_Pam stroked the top of Jim's head, "Where would you get an idea like that?"_

_Jim shrugged, initiating another long pause. Finally, Pam began to giggle._

_"Jim?" she asked._

_"Yeah?"_

_"I can't breathe."_

_Jim let out a soft chuckle and picked himself up, rolling over to rest his head on his own pillow. She breathed in and sighed deeply. _

_"Thanks hon," she said. After a moment's pause, she __tossed back the covers __and __swung her legs over the edge of the bed._

_"Where are you going?"_

_"I'm going to find my PJs and change for bed."_

_"You wear pyjamas to bed?" Jim was genuinely surprised.  
_

_She turned to look at him, "'Course I do! Cute ones too."_

_Jim just grinned as he watched the only true love of his life saunter into the bathroom to change for bed._


	14. A Bright Future in Sales

**A/N: ****Sorry for the delay. My Victoria Day long weekend included a 12-hour round trip "jaunt" to Jasper, followed by a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, followed by cycles of sleep and coffee _ad nauseum_. I'm just barely starting to feel vaguely human again. Plus the upload function was down. But I'm back**** and I hope you like this new chapter!**

**Song title borrowed from the Fountains of Wayne song "A Bright Future in Sales". After reading an ingenious story/songfic titled "Scranton Mix Tape" by Bears Eat Beets (HIGHLY recommended story, by the way!) I decided that making an online mixtape/playlist of all the songs used in my fic might be fun and helpful for you to listen to. So I made one -- listen through it at your leisure, with the story or without, and if you like what you hear then support the artists whose songs I've been borrowing from by buying their albums! Win-win! :) Go to www . playlist . com / node / 34686013 (spaces added so you can read it) I'll add a new song with each chapter I update!  
**

* * *

_Friday morning. Scranton. The office staff is busy, or looking busy, at their computers. Pam is at her desk; Jim at his. They avoid looking at one another. Michael walks in, late as usual. The camera catches him make a motion for Jim and Pam to accompany him into his office. They sheepishly leave their desks, Pam clasping her hands in front of her, and Jim with his hands in his pockets. The camera watches as they sit down in Michael's office, and as Dwight's face registers his disgust._

Jim (_V.O._): Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom called Dunder Mifflin Scranton, there was a beautiful receptionist named Pam and a lowly salesman named Jim who really liked each other a lot. So much so, in fact, that they told a white lie to the de facto King of Dunder Mifflin Scranton, named Michael, so that they could spend some time together. However, in this same kingdom, there was also an evil desk troll named Dwight who apparently couldn't stand anyone else's happiness. Dwight found out about Pam and Jim's secret meeting. Dwight told Michael.

(_Camera cuts to Jim, sitting in the conference room_)

Jim (_talking head, cont'd_): Now Michael was… surprisingly okay about it and let the pair off with a warning. It seemed like a happy ending. (_Pause_) But despite all of that… Jim might still have to kill Dwight.

--

Dwight (_talking head_): Yes, I saw Pam at the airport. Yes, I told Michael. Yes, I had my suspicions all along. He told me he had company… female company… (_narrows his eyes as he looks in the camera_) but I never imagined it was Pam. (_Pause_) Their lies cost the company. If Pam wanted a holiday, she should have booked time off. Their blatant abuse of the trust of this office and their co-workers is appalling, and would certainly be grounds for dismissal if I were Regional Manager. I wouldn't even have to worry about replacements. I know ten people I could call now who could replace Pam by lunchtime.

--

_In the conference room, later that same day. Dwight is sitting across the table from Jim; Michael sits at the head of the table. Jim and Dwight stare at each other for an uncomfortable period of time before Dwight leans back in his chair and lets out a heavy sigh._

Michael: Team building, it's what's for dinnaaaah... (_laughs to himself, then clears his throat when he realizes no one else is_ _laughing_) Jim, Dwight, you were gone for three days. Tell me what you accomplished.

Jim: (_mockingly_) If we just put our minds to it, Dwight and I can accomplish anything. Right Dwight?

Dwight: (_pointing at Jim_) I can't believe that you believe this.

Jim: I can't believe you're still talking.

Michael: Is this still about the whole Pam debacle? (_To Dwight_) Come on, Dwight. Be a team player! Let's not make this a bigger deal than it is.

Dwight: It's not about that.

Jim: Then what is it about?

Dwight: I… okay, fine, I do resent the fact that Jim and Pam used company time to be together.

Michael: Fair enough. (_To Jim_) What do you say to that?

Jim: Well, maybe my personal life should be none of Dwight's business.

Dwight: Maybe your _personal _life should stay at home and not be brought on _business trips_.

Jim: I still fail to see how this is any of _your_ concern, Dwight.

Dwight: As ranking number…

Jim: You still rank? Wow, news to me.

(_Dwight narrows his eyes at Jim, who smirks at the camera. Michael looks awkwardly at his sales team_)

Michael: Okay, okay… let's be grown up. (_He scribbles on a pad of paper, handing the sheet to Dwight_) Read it.

Dwight: (_reads it_) No way. I'm not saying this.

Michael: (_Calmly_) Go ahead. We'll wait.

(_Jim waits patiently; Dwight seems to go over his options mentally before heaving a sigh_)

Dwight: Fine.

Michael: Good. Wonderful. Pretend I'm not here.

Dwight: (_looking around the room_) Jim… .

Jim: Yes, Dwight?

Dwight: I… appreciate… the things you do for Dunder Mifflin. (_in a monotonous, flat voice) _You are an accomplished salesman and I am glad to share my workspace with you. (_looks up at Michael_) Are you serious?

Michael: Don't ruin it, Dwight.

Jim: (_with mock surprise on his face_) Why thank you, Dwight. And I'm sorry that I made you an accomplice to Pam's playing hooky from work.

Dwight: (_cautiously, in a low voice_) Apology grudgingly accepted.

Michael: See! That wasn't so bad! (_He hands Jim a piece of paper) _Let's keep the dialogue going, see where it takes us.

Jim: (_smirking_) All right... Dwight, did you enjoy your time in Canada?

Dwight: (_flatly_) Not as much as you did.

Jim: (_motioning to Dwight_) How can I work with this?

Michael: Dwight, play along.

Dwight: Under extreme duress, and only because you asked. (_To Jim_) I'm glad to be home, if that's what you mean.

Jim: So… you didn't have a good trip?

Dwight: For starters, you lied. I don't like being lied to. And secondly, did you _hear _the way they talk? They call the trunks of their cars "boots". They have coins called "loonies" and "toonies". They add "eh" after every thing they say. And what the hell is a "double-double"?

Jim: (_glancing at the camera and stifling a laugh_) It's something to do with beer.

Dwight: I don't care, Jim. There's a reason we're bigger than they are.

Jim: Actually, Canada is bigger. (_Pause_) And on top.

Dwight: That's sick.

Jim: You thought of it.

Dwight: I did… (_pauses in mid-sentence and closes his mouth_).

Michael: I like Canada. I wish I had been allowed to go on the trip. It sounds like fun.

Dwight: (_with a sneer_) You didn't even know where Halifax was.

Michael: You were the one who told me it was near Albany.

Dwight: Well it is… relatively close… .

Jim: (_to himself, but loud enough for Dwight to hear_) Maybe a double double is a kinky sex act.

(_Dwight scoffs at Jim's comment and turns his attention back to Michael_)

Michael: (_continuing_) That doesn't matter.

Dwight: How can you like Canada if you don't know where anything is?

Jim: (_again, to himself_) Like maybe it's where you get four people and you take two of the… .

Dwight: Is that all you think about?

Jim: (_nodding_) Yeah, I'll bet they invented it to keep warm on those cold Canadian winter nights.

Michael: (_oblivious_) I like the Maple Leafs.

Dwight: Nobody likes the Maple Leafs.

Jim: Don't the Penguins play the Leafs tonight?

Michael: Who are the Penguins? (_confused_) What are we talking about?

Jim: (_glancing at the camera with a smirk_) Double doubles.

Dwight: (_slamming a hand flat on the table_) I don't want to hear anymore about your double-double, Jim.

Michael: (_laughing_) That's what she said!

Jim: (_puzzled_) Is it really what she said?

Michael: (_thinks about it_) Why couldn't she say it?

Jim: (_with the bemused look of a thinker_) It doesn't sound like something she'd say.

Michael: No?

Jim: Who is _she _anyway?

(_Michael laughs awkwardly, and Jim smiles at the camera. Dwight, frustrated, stands up and leaves the conference room, leaving Jim leaning back in his chair, grinning_)

--

_A few moments later:_

Jim: (_concentrating on his computer screen_) Seriously, Dwight, that display back there... I'm disappointed that our friendship means so little to you that you could let this interfere with our ability to be cordial.

Dwight: (_also focusing on his computer_) I did what I had to do. I am loyal to Michael and this company.

Jim: (_feigning sadness_) It's fine that you don't care about me, but what about Pam? (_he eyes the camera_)

Dwight: What about her?

Jim: She was just starting to feel comfortable in the office… (_shakes head sadly_) It wasn't what you think, Dwight. I was just trying to help her along the path of recovery. All that progress has been undone, I'm afraid. Especially if everyone in the office were to find out about what went on? Who have you told anyway?

Dwight: Only Michael. (_thoughtful_) Why, what's the matter with her?

Jim: I'd be betraying her trust if I told you. You'll have to ask her yourself.

Dwight: (_suddenly concerned_) Is it serious?

Jim: (_looks at the camera with a carefully concealed grin, then levels his gaze at Dwight_) Very serious.

Dwight: But in the hotel room… you and your "lady friend"… .

(_Jim nods. Dwight looks back at Pam, eyeing her curiously_)

Dwight: (_with sudden realization_) Do you mean…?

Jim: (_leaning over his desk, whispering_) You can't tell Pam that you know.I was only trying to help her. She would be mortified.

Dwight: Okay. (_he nods knowingly_) Don't worry, Jim. My lips are sealed.

(_Jim nods slowly, extending a fist for Dwight to "pound". Then he glances at the camera with a grin and looks back to his computer_)

--

Jim (_talking head, in the kitchen_): Convincing Dwight that Pam is a recovering sex addict might be the highlight of this whole thing. And it was Pam's idea. (_Laughs to himself as he peeks around the fridge to see where Dwight is_)If I play my cards right, maybe I can keep this going until Christmas. I can't believe how easy it was. Pam'll never believe me. (_He looks again to find that Pam is not at her desk_) Well, I'll tell her when she gets back. She was just there, wasn't she? Is it lunch time already? (_glances at his watch and shrugs_) Pam never leaves unless it's lunch.

_(While the camera adjusts its focus on Jim, a noise is heard in the office. Jim turns and the camera catches the sight of Roy barging into the room)_

Roy: Where the fuck is Jim Halpert?!


	15. He's the Man You Dropped

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the song "No No No" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

_Ten minutes earlier_

Pam watched as Jim and Dwight exchanged cordialities across their desks, and grinned to herself. She was glad that Michael wasn't going to fire her for lying, and she pretended it might be because he liked her enough to keep her around rather than because he knew she knew that he had done the same thing as she and Jim had so many times and she was one of the few people who would really call him out on his hypocrisy. The idea to imply that Pam had a sexual addiction in order to keep Dwight quiet about the whole thing had been a stroke of brilliance on her part, and she was proud of Jim for pulling it off so perfectly. He glanced up at her briefly, smiling in the way that let her know it was all for her, before he got up to do his interview with the camera man. She smiled back, looking to her computer, and noticed the blinking red light on her cell phone which meant yet another phone message -- probably from Roy -- was waiting to be retrieved. Deep down, she knew that the hardest part of her day hadn't even started yet.

_I still have to tell him. Everything – where I was, who I was with. I'd rather have Dwight tell _all _of Dunder Mifflin that I'm a sex addict than have to face Roy today._

She briefly considered sending him an email, but pulled her hands off the keyboard with a start, as if the keys were white hot. _You can end an engagement over email, Pam, even if it's not a real engagement anymore. _Her heart sank. She knew she had to go down there.

She stood up at her desk, avoiding eye contact with Dwight – because it was creepy the way he scrutinized her and she knew why he was doing it – and watching Jim's back carefully as he walked to the kitchen to make sure he didn't see her leave.

"I'll be back in a few," she poked her head into Michael's office, not wanting to hear his reply.

"You sure about that, Pammy?" Michael called back, "Last time you said that, you… ."

She ignored him and plodded on out of the office, opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator. With her head down, she didn't even notice the man walking towards her, didn't hear him call her name, and only realized he was blocking her path when she walked headlong into his chest.

"Pam!" Roy said, "Where have you been?"

"Roy!"

"I've been calling and emailing. I've called your mom." He wasn't angry, which surprised Pam. He reached out and clasped her shoulders in his hands. Pam grimaced as she thought about the dirt on his palms and the marks they would leave on her blouse.

"I'm sorry, I was…," she paused, "I went out of town for a few days."

"Where did you go?"

Pam was silent for a while, considering her response. "Halifax," she finally said.

"Really?" he asked. "Why Halifax?"

"I don't know, I just needed to get away."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Why did you need to get away?"

"Because, I just needed a vacation."

"Then why didn't you book time off? Why did you tell Michael you were sick? Why didn't you tell me?"

Pam furrowed her brow, "I don't have to answer to you, Roy. I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions."

"Excuse me for wanting to know where my fiancée is going."

Pam looked down at her hands, rubbing the spot on her ring finger where her engagement ring once sat. Roy noticed her fumbling.

"Hey, _where _is your ring?"

"Roy, I-," she stuttered. "I can't… marry you." It wasn't planned. She blurted and she knew it. Her face turned red as she anticipated the onslaught that would follow.

"What?"

"I can't marry you. It's not what I want anymore."

Roy looked confused. He stepped back and continued to look her over. She touched her hair self-consciously; she knew she looked different -- doing her hair in the same tousled way she had for Jim in Halifax, wearing a bolder colour pink in her blouse -- but Roy didn't know that she _felt _differently too. Her face flushed more and she wondered if he could read it in her eyes, so she looked away.

"What's changed?" Roy asked, "Why not 'anymore'?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't have said yes again. I remembered all those reasons why I broke it off in the first place… ."

"Which were?" Roy demanded.

Pam unconsciously glanced back at the door to the office, recalling the casino night, Jim's confession, the kiss… the year of guilt and trepidation that followed, which had culminated so beautifully on a rocky peninsula on the east coast of Canada.

Suddenly: "I kissed Jim…."

Pam both wished she hadn't and was glad that she had said what she said_. _Without waiting for Roy to reply, Pam continued_. _"After you left the casino night… he told me he had feelings for me… no I have to tell the truth… it wasn't just that. Jim told me he was in love with me. And then we kissed… well he kissed me… and I didn't stop him, so technically it makes me just as much a part of what happened that night as he was." She was breathless as she reached the rambling conclusion of her confessional. Rather than feeling lighter, Pam's heart weighed her down.

And Roy looked as if he'd been hit in the stomach. His face blanched. "Halpert hit on you?"

Pam shook her head and scowled, "That's the thing, Roy. It was mutual. It kind of still _is_."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pam startled herself again as the words began to flow out of her mouth unfiltered. "I love him, too." Her voice was soft, tentative. She thought Roy hadn't heard it – truthfully, she had barely heard herself. But the realization of her feelings and her sudden ability to speak them gave her strength and she raised her voice. "I love Jim."

Pam noticed Roy balling his hands up into fists at his sides. He looked angrier than she'd ever seen him before, and as cathartic as it had been to finally admit that she loved Jim, she suddenly feared that Roy's famous temper might have reached the tipping point.

"So the other night…," he began calmly, "That shit I found on your desk… ."

Pam shook her head, "Roy, I'm sorry--."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" he laughed, "Not as sorry as I am, wasting years on you while you were pining for that jerk-off."

Pam was stung by his words but felt strangely deserving of them; still, her resentment of Roy's characterization of Jim was apparent. "I don't know what to say."

"Did you go to him the other night?"

She nodded. "And I went to Halifax with him, too." _Where the hell is this coming from? _she asked herself.

Roy stared at her incredulously, "You what?"

"I caught a plane to Halifax. We had a fight on Friday. I wanted to fix things." She paused, "I didn't plan for this to happen, Roy. Jim's a great guy, he's my best friend."

"He must be fucking _great_!" Roy said, "Tell me, Pam, how many times were you going to sleep with him before you told me?"

Pam winced at the implication, feeling her face flush for the third time. "Once, Roy."

"I can't believe you're leaving _me_ for _him_!"

"Will you calm down?" she asked.

"No I won't calm down!"

Pam felt hot, embarrassed tears rise in her eyes. She had stood and let herself be yelled at far too many times to count. _This time will be different_, she said, turning on her heel and marching back down the hallway.

"Get back here, Pam!" Roy yelled.

"No," she said, too quietly for him to hear, and dug in the pocket of her skirt to fing her ring. She turned around and was prepared to toss it on the ground for Roy to retrieve, but as she spun, Roy's hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards him. Her body pressed against his made her queasy and as he twisted her hand around she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming.

"You said yes to _me_, Pam," he squeezed harder, "_Me_, not _Jim_!"

"Let go of me!" she cried, loud enough that she wondered if anyone had heard her. The Vance Refrigeration team was out of the office that day; if anyone had heard her, they were at the end of the hall, ten, maybe fifteen steps away. They would either come running to her or she would have to run to them. If they heard. She tried to twist her arm out of Roy's thick hand but it just served to strengthen his resolve to hold her there. He shook her violently to stop her from squirming, and the ring shook out of her hand, falling with a heavy thud to the carpet between them. Roy stared at Pam before releasing her wrist and stooping to pick it up. She stepped sideways against the elevators and pressed herself closer to the wall to put as much space between him and her, unable to realize her plan of a quick escape. She watched as Roy's face turned red as he picked up the ring, looked at it shining in his grimy hands, and then threw it hard at the wall. Pam flinched and cried out. It left a dent in the plaster where it impacted, just inches from Pam's head.

"I'll kill him," he muttered under his breath, stalking off towards the office. Pam followed.

"Roy, leave it alone!"

But he threw the door open. It crashed into the wall as he stormed into the office space and bellowed: "Where the fuck is Jim Halpert?"

Pam rushed in behind Roy, "Somebody call security!" Her voice was small. Roy glanced at her and reached out to pull Pam to him. Everyone had turned to look at the scene. Nobody moved, except Jim, running out of the kitchen followed by part of the film crew.

"Roy what the hell… ."

"Just shut up, Halpert. Pam told me everything," he reached over and grabbed Pam by the elbow, bringing her close to him by twisting her arm until she submitted. "You want Pam so bad, you can have her, but not without a fight."

Michael now stood in the doorway of his office, "What's going on here?!"

"Call security," Pam said again.

Michael went back inside to make the call, but Angela's voice cut through the tense silence that followed Pam's order. "They're on their way," she could be heard saying from across the room.

Roy ignored everyone; his eyes focused on Jim. "Come on, Halpert. What, is she not worth fighting for?"

"She absolutely is," Jim said calmly. "But I'm not going to fight you over something that's entirely up to Pam."

He looked to Pam, and she saw the pained expression in his eyes as he realized how helpless they were. It broke her heart. She saw his hands tense, and knew that he would have leaped over anything in his way to get to her if it weren't for Roy's unpredictability. His composure stilled Pam's thudding heart despite her pain and fear. As if to emphasize it, Roy twisted again and Pam let out a cry.

"What makes you so sure she wants you?"

Jim shrugged, lifting his eyes to meet Roy's. "I _don't _know that. But I think she made it pretty clear that she doesn't want _you_."

Roy scoffed, "It doesn't matter. She'll come crawling back," he pulled Pam closer again, "She did last time, didn't she?"

Pam closed her eyes and tried to lean away from him. "Let go of me," she spat.

Roy looked at Pam, his eyes dancing with amusement, "You sure you want a baby for a boyfriend? He's too afraid to fight for you, Pammy." Pam's eyes shone with fury, over his abuse, the insulting way he referred to Jim, the way he sneered when he called her by the name she detested. She lifted her foot and planted the heel of her shoe right on Roy's toes. Shocked, Roy tossed her away in front of Michael's office and hopped back.

"Fuck!" Roy cursed.

Michael caught her and helped her to steady herself before she walked over to Jim, without taking her eyes off of Roy as he hobbled away. Jim put a hand on her arm, while Michael and Dwight stepped closer as if making a wall between Roy and the rest of the office. Pam had tears streaming down her face but she didn't make a sound as Jim protectively insinuated himself between her and Roy. She kept her hand clasped to his behind his back, not daring to let go.

The security guards finally entered the office, and Roy chuckled under his breath. "Whatever, man. She's crazy anyway. You can have her."

"Get him out of here," Michael levelled his gaze at Roy. Before the security guards could begin escorting him out of the office, however, Roy lunged. Before anyone else had a chance to react, and with alarming speed and dexterity, Dwight leapt into action, tackling Roy from the side and driving him into Michael's office, narrowly missing Michael in the process, with the security guards close behind. Shocked, everyone crowded around to peek inside; Dwight had pinned Roy to the ground and the security guards were handcuffing him. Roy appeared to be semi-conscious.

"Nothing to see, folks," Dwight waved everyone off. Michael gaped, seemingly impressed at Dwight's abilities. Andy seemed to be in shock, and even Stanley couldn't contain his surprise. Kevin attempted to film the whole thing on his camera phone, and despite her earlier helpfulness, Angela was outwardly dismissive of the whole charade. Roy was led out in handcuffs, dazed and more than a little bit confused, and Dwight was lauded as a hero.

Pam leaned against Jim's back, resting her head near his shoulder, and felt her head begin to spin. Jim turned to face her, making sure not to break contact. But as soon as Pam felt the safety of Jim's arms encircling her and began to let herself cry openly, a great wave of nausea washed over her.

"Just... stay...," she whispered, stepping away, leaving Jim to stand open-armed while she stumbled off towards the break room, her sob-wracked body convulsing with each step.


	16. Ideas Travelling Around in Her Head

**A/N: First of all, thanks for all the wonderful reviews! They have really been nice to read and I'm happy you all like the story so much. This chappie is shorter than the rest but it was necessary, I thought, to move the story along. It's going to take a turn again, because I finally have an ending in mind but to get there, there's going to be a bit of angsty drama to wade through. Consequently, this chapter is really, truly, pure fluffiness; the calm before the storm (or in this case, _between _storms). The chapter title is from the song "If She Knew What She Wants" by The Bangles. Let me know what you like or don't like, and if you have anything you'd like to see, let me know and I'll try to incorporate it! :)**

* * *

Pam changed her mind half way across the office, and bolted to the bathroom instead. She could feel Jim's eyes on her back as she ran, but she didn't turn around or change her trajectory. The events of that morning overwhelmed her and more than anything, she needed to be alone. She shoved open the door to the ladies room a little too hard, and rested her hands on the countertop as she stared at her own reflection.

She remembered something she'd read about on Wikipedia during a particularly boring afternoon one day a few weeks earlier, a self-help technique to put yourself in control again. She looked deep into her own eyes. "How do you feel about what just happened?"

_Scared. Shaky. Upset. Happy. Nauseous. _

It didn't make her feel better.

She lowered her eyes and turned on the tap, then splashed some cool water on her face. She felt strangely liberated, but another part of her felt incredibly guilty. She had done little to ease Roy's anger in the moments leading up to his outburst. She had been the cause of it all to begin with, in fact.

_Don't blame yourself. Roy is a grown man and should know how to control his own emotions_.

She looked back into the mirror and began to cry. She had loved Roy. Maybe she wasn't in love with him anymore, but she had loved him. Where was he now? Pam let the tears fall freely as she thought about him, stumbling out of the office, handcuffed, hauled away from the life that not twenty minutes ago he still believed was his, and facing jail time. She wept for him, for his loss. She wept for herself and the time she'd spent with in a relationship that was easy and comfortable but terribly unfulfilling, that was wrong on so many levels but which was too frightening to end.

_But I did it_.

The thought barged in and tore down the fancy self-pitying decorations that cluttered her mind. Like someone had opened a door and let a fresh breeze into a long-locked room, Pam felt free. She breathed in deeply and looked up at herself in the mirror, wiping away the mascara smudges and tracing the thin line of a smile as it coloured her face.

She straightened up, fixed her blouse, and blinked away what remained of her tears. Then, with the flourish of her pen, Pam finished the last sentence in the last paragraph of the last chapter of her life with Roy, and closed the book simply because she could do that now. It was done; nothing could change it. Her mind was made up; she knew where she had to be.

Pam would always love Roy; but as she stepped away from the counter in the Dunder Mifflin Scranton ladies room she knew she could move on without guilt or regret. It wouldn't be easy, but she didn't want easy; in fact, she would welcome challenge. Her smile broadened as she looked forward to the new life she imagined for herself.

_And Jim… ._

As she turned and walked out of the bathroom, she ran headlong into Jim as he rounded the corner a little too quickly in his hurry to get to her.

"Pam!"

"Jim!"

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. Tentative at first, Jim circled his arms around her too. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she whispered. "I just love you."

It was the first time she'd said it to Jim. If he was surprised, he hid it well, simply kissing the top of her head and hugging her closer. They walked out of the room after a while, leaving little to the imaginations of their co-workers, who now had all the confirmation they needed. They did their jobs, talked to police, and got through the rest of the day unscathed. Nobody talked about Roy.

And at the end of the day, Pam and Jim both found relationship disclosure forms from HR in their inbox trays on their desks. It was just another day down the drain at Dunder Mifflin.

--

_Outside the office, co-talking heads, 5:15 pm._

Pam: ...I don't think surreal even begins to describe this week.

Jim: We started off, literally a week ago, at a strange Ramadan party, and since then we've been to a foreign country… .

Pam: I'd hardly call Canada foreign.

Jim:… hid, revealed, lied about, and formally disclosed our relationship at work (_holds up disclosure form_)… fought off a jealous Roy… . (_Pause_) How much weirder could this possibly get?


	17. Days and Weeks Go By

**A/N: Lucky people, you! Two chapters in one day! Well, to be honest, I've had this one written for a while. It's fun -- encompassing a period of about six weeks or so, between the end of September and the start of November. Chapter title borrowed from the song "Count Yourself In" by my favourite Edmonton punk/rock/alternative band (in which a friend of mine plays guitar!), Ten Second Epic. Unfortunately I can't find the song to post on the story playlist online, but if you want to hear it, you can visit the band's MySpace page. Enjoy -- and if not, tell me why!**

* * *

Jim walked into the office fifteen minutes late. He had two large, steaming cups of coffee in his gloved hands, one of which he set on the reception desk in front of Pam, who was too engrossed in her game of Solitaire to notice him come in.

Walking around the side of her desk, he pecked her on the cheek, "Morning sunshine."

"You're cold," she whined.

"It's because it's snowing outside," he said, still close to her ear as he read the email.

"Really?" she exclaimed with glee, pushing her chair away from her computer screen and racing to the closest window. "But it's not even winter yet!"

Jim was taking off his coat and setting down his bag at his desk. He smiled at Pam as she walked back to reception, a wide smile on her face. Jim pulled out his chair and sat down. Dwight made a face; he had obviously only arrived shortly before him, for his own computer had yet to start up.

"What pathetic excuse for a caffeinated beverage did you buy today?" he sneered.

"This time it is coffee," he said, lifting the lid to show Dwight the contents, "No foam. No flavour. Just coffee."

Another snicker, "That's brown sugar water."

"How do you figure?" Jim asked.

Dwight pointed into the cup, "It's brown in colour and tastes like sugar. Categorically not coffee."

"I beg to differ," Jim said, replacing the lid and taking a swallow as he waited for his computer to boot up. "Say, Dwight… can I borrow your stapler?"

Dwight glanced over at Jim's stapler, "What's wrong with yours?"

"All out of staples."

"Get new ones."

Jim swivelled in his chair to look at the cabinet where the staples were kept. He then slowly turned his attention back to Dwight, "Nah, too far."

Dwight sighed and reached for his stapler. With one swift, angry motion, he pulled at the stapler. It didn't budge; rather, Dwight's hand slid right off it and hit him in the face. Jim stifled a laugh.

Furious, Dwight tried again, unsuccessfully, to lift his stapler off his desk; his hand bumped his pencil cup, which didn't move either. Every object Dwight tried to move remained firmly rooted to his desktop. With anger and annoyance building in his eyes, Dwight stood up.

"All right! Who glued my stuff to my desk?"

Jim shrugged and logged onto his computer, turning to wink at Pam. She raised her coffee cup in a toast, and Jim secretly took a bow.

--

Jim made sure he got to work just before Dwight did but after most everyone else had. Kevin was coming in the door just behind him.

"Morning Kev," Jim said, "Big plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing special," Kevin replied. "You?"

"Not unless Pam's made some that I don't know about yet." He winked at Pam, who shook her head.

"True that," Kevin drawled as he entered the office, and then let out a low whistle. Jim followed Kevin's eyes to Dwight's desk. Every square inch was covered in paper -- it was taped and glued to the desk, the computer, even his computer chair and the contents of his desk top were wrapped in sheets of 8 1/2" by 11" white printer paper.

"He's not going to be too happy about this," Kevin shook his head.

Jim sniggered and looked over at Pam, who held out her hand beside her desk for a low five. Jim pretended to give her one as he hung up his coat.

"It was like that when we arrived," Stanley said slowly, looking at Jim. "I can't _imagine _who would have _done _this."

"It's not funny," Angela sniped as she walked in behind Stanley and stalked to her desk.

"It could be recycled," Jim insisted, just as Dwight entered the office. As he turned the corner and got a first look at his desk, he groaned.

"Who did this?" he asked, looking around the office. When he got to Jim, he shook his head, "Jim! We're supposed to sell paper, not waste it. You're cutting into your own company's profit margin by doing this, undercutting your own bonus. You know that don't you?"

"What makes you think it was me?"

Dwight snarled and began the arduous task of peeling off every piece of paper taped to his desk top. Michael arrived, and promptly began to laugh.

"Good one," he patted Jim on the back, "Have fun Dwight."

Jim looked at Pam and raised his hands in mock consternation, "Why do they always think it's me?"

"You have that guilty look to you," she said with a shrug. "Better get used to it."

Dwight watched as Michael laughed, and without delay followed him into his office to complain.

--

The phone rang. Dwight picked it up after the second ring.

"Dunder Mifflin, Dwight Schrute speaking," he said.

Jim continued his game of Solitaire, taking a bite of his apple as he clicked the mouse, pretending not to hear

"No, I don't like Rupert Everett. Please don't call here again." Dwight slammed the phone down on the base.

"Lady troubles?" Jim asked.

"No," Dwight said, "Just the opposite."

Jim raised an eyebrow, "_Guy_ troubles?"

Dwight narrowed his eyes at Jim, "I've been getting calls all day about a personals ad I didn't take out, in a newspaper I've never heard of called PGN. And I think there must be some mistake in the ad."

"Maybe it could be a good thing. You know, get out, enjoy life a bit," Jim offered, "Why don't you take one of them up on it?"

Dwight lowered his voice and motioned for Jim to lean closer across the desk. When he obliged, Dwight continued. "Because I've only been getting calls from men, Jim. It's weird."

Jim nodded, "Oh, that kind of ad. I had no idea, Dwight. I'm sorry. I just assumed… ."

Dwight looked over at Jim. "I didn't take out the ad."

Just then, Pam walked over, "Did you see this?" she asked, holding up a piece of paper she'd just printed off. She handed it to Jim, who whistled.

"Wow. Pretty big stuff. This is a huge newspaper," Jim motioned to Dwight, "No wonder you've been getting so many calls."  
Dwight snatched the paper from Jim and scanned it. As he did, his eyes grew wide.

"The Philadelphia Gay News? You took out a personals ad for me in the Philadelphia Gay News?!"

Jim was flustered, "Dwight, why do you automatically assume I did this?"

"Who else is going to?"

"Well what's wrong with putting a personals ad in the PGN?" Jim asked.

"Nothing, except _I'm not gay_!" Dwight countered, loudly enough for everyone to turn and look.

"Well… anyone who reads this is certainly going to think you are," Pam said, grabbing the paper back, "Mature, handsome GM looking for friendship and maybe more," she raised and lowered her eyebrows over the paper. "Must love beets, karate, Battlestar Galactica, and Broadway musicals. Volunteer/Career sheriffs deputies given special preference."

Dwight groaned, "But I _hate_ Broadway musicals," he said, taking back the paper and looking over the ad for a second time. Jim found a camera and smiled into the lens.

--

Dwight arrived to find Jim already at his desk, writing up a sales report on the computer.

"So you figured out how to use your alarm, did you Jim?" Dwight said as he slung his bag over his chair and flicking on his computer.

"You know, Dwight," Jim said, leaning back in his chair, "You should fix the lights in your apartment."

"Why?" Dwight asked, slightly wary.

"Because it's clearly getting in the way of your ability to dress yourself every morning."

Dwight narrowed his eyes and sat down in his chair. As his computer booted up, Dwight's face registered absolute horror. His scrambled to silence his speakers as a loud siren began to wail. The words "Porn Addict" flashed across Dwight's desktop. Everyone turned to look, and while a few people laughed, Jim just stared at his co-worker.

"Really, Dwight?"

"Shut it, Halpert."

Jim shook his head and 'tsked', then glanced at the camera to flash a knowing grin.

_In the conference room, a few moments later:_

Jim (_talking head_): Pam found this website that lets you download embarrassing desktop backgrounds and themes and fake icons to someone's computer as pranks. We thought we'd start with the Porn Addict one, made all the more difficult to undo because we also downloaded a program that makes the icons on Dwight's computer resistant to his mouse-clicks.

_Dwight's frustrated cries can be heard through the door. Jim grins._

Jim: Sounds like he tried to open his Internet browser. (_Casts another grin at the camera_) His computer just informed him that Windows has started deleting itself. (_He shrugs_) And this is why I love Pam.

--

_Jim, Dwight, Phyllis, Stanley, Andy, and Michael are all seated around the conference table._

Michael: This month, we are competing directly with the Albany branch. They posted record profits last month so it's time we showed them what the sales team in Scranton is made of.

Dwight: What do we have to sell?

Jim: Well Dwight, here at Dunder Mifflin we sell paper. Maybe some manila envelopes, file folders, if you're lucky... .

Dwight: (_glaring at Jim) _I know that.

Michael: Let's shoot for at least five thousand dollars each. Jim, if you want to double that, go ahead... .

Dwight: (_horrified_) Ten thousand dollars?! Why does Jim have a higher goal than me?

Michael: He's on a roll; he sold eight thousand last month, and he's doing that on top of his responsibilities as Assistant Regional Manager. When you post figures like he can, then we'll talk.

Dwight: But I'm the best salesman in the company!

Phyllis: Not for much longer, by the looks of things... .

Stanley: What do we get if we win?

Michael: (_slightly dismissively_) I'll.. talk to... Ryan about getting pizza or something... .

Stanley: Can we go now? (_He stands up_)

Michael: Yeah, go get cracka-lackin'. (_to Jim_) You can set up in the conference room for a few days to really blitz your way through your client list. I'll give you some of Dwight's if he's slacking.

Jim: (_mockingly_) Can I call it my office?

(_Dwight fumes and crosses his arms across his chest_)

Jim (_talking head_): I think I pushed Dwight over the edge today. How do I know? (_looks sideways, then moves closer to the camera and lowers his voice to a whisper_) He's planning a large scale attack for tomorrow. (_grins as he sits back up_) YOu didn't hear it from me. Unfortunately for Dwight – who is a genius by the way, did I mention that? – he posted his entire diabolical scheme on his blog, which Pam and I... (_Pause_) I mean Betty and Barney Rubble... they subscribe to it. So now I know that he is planning on turning my office (_stops to look down at a piece of paper in his hand_)… oh that's charming, he calls it my "workspace"… (_smirks and puts the paper down_)... he's going to turn everything upside down so when I come in tomorrow morning, it'll be in shambles and I won't be able to work. (_Smiling and shaking his head_) Oh Dwight… (_he holds up his office key_) You have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on ol' Jim Halpert.

--

Dwight arrived Friday morning with a smile on his face and an extra bounce in his step. He sat at his desk, relishing the idea of Jim's things all being in the conference room, which meant he had, essentially, two desks he could occupy all day. The look of the empty desk beside his made him smile, but not as much as the closed, locked, shade-drawn conference room, looking exactly as he'd left it the night before when he'd stayed behind late to mess with Jim.

Pam arrived. Then Toby, Oscar, Meredith, Creed arrived. Then Kevin. Then Phyllis. Dwight began to get impatient. Where was Jim?

Finally, he arrived, carrying Friday coffee for Pam. "How many more hours until the weekend?"

"Seven and a half," she groaned.

"Ugh," Jim stumbled to his office door, pretending to be dying. Pam grinned and sipped her coffee.

Dwight tried to keep his anticipation down as he watched Jim unlock the door to the conference room and step inside. He waited for the cry of surprise, the accusations. Nothing happened. Jim didn't reappear. Curious, Dwight got up and crossed the space between him and the conference room and peered inside.

Jim was sitting at the table, waiting for his computer to boot up. Everything he'd turned upside down the night before – all the chairs, the table, the computer, everything – had been righted.

"Can I help you Dwight?" Jim asked, looking up from his computer screen.

"But… I thought… ."

"What is it, Dwight?" Jim asked, casting confused glances at the camera over Dwight's shoulder.

Confused, Dwight just turned around and walked back to his desk. Jim raised his eyebrows and smirked, then shook his head and got back to work.


	18. Beautiful Disease

**A/N: I hope this meets your approval! Thanks again for the reviews. In response to Emma, who brought up a good point: Jim doesn't really react all that much to the signs of abuse coming from Roy towards Pam... ****it was a tough decision to not show Jim's reaction to Roy... but I figured that one of the things that was going to separate the two was Roy's complete, very vocal overreaction to everything, and Jim's quasi-complacent and totally non-verbal reactions about the same. I can't imagine Jim getting worked up about anything, anyway, even if it was something nasty like what Roy may have done to Pam. Weird? I dunno. It will make sense in the next few chapters, though, and it definitely has something to do with Karen, a bit of jealousy mixed in with latent confusion about the whole thing from both Pam and Jim... . It's not going to be easy to keep these two together! Stay tuned!  
**

**Song title borrowed from Norah Jones and the Peter Malick Group's song "New York City". Again, let me know where I'm going wrong or if you have suggestions!! They're the best!**

* * *

_I can't remember what I planned tomorrow  
I can't remember when it's time to go…_

Pam (_talking head_): Today is our three month un-anniversary. (_Pause_) We decided that since we had so many false starts it would be unfair to put any one of them down on paper as our _official_ anniversary day. So we just picked a day of the month really randomly and said it would be our anniversary. (_Pause_) Anniversaries are random things anyway, right? I mean, who really pays attention to them?

--

Jim (_talking head_): Well… it's been 19 months since we kissed the first time. That was after Casino Night. Um… it's been almost three months since our second kiss. Subtract five days from that and you'd have the anniversary of our first trip together, if that counts for anything. And that's like… two months and three weeks, right? And subtract another two days from _that _and… you have the anniversary of the day Roy got arrested. Or as I like to call it, The 'It's-Safe-To-Go-In-Public-Together-And-Hold-Hands-Because-Nobody's-Going-To-Try-And-Rearrange-Your-Face-If-You're-Caught' Day. (_Pause_) It might only be our three month un-anniversary, but let the record show that there is more to today than just an arbitrary date picked by throwing a magnetic dart at the calendar on Pam's fridge. (_He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and out the window towards reception. He reaches into his inside coat pocket, and pulls a small velvet box. Rolling it around in his hands, he heaves a nervous sigh before breaking into a grin) _Got it in Halifax. (_He shrugs_) When you know, why wait?

--

A camera crew had followed Jim and Pam to New York for their un-anniversary. It was December 21st. They had planned their weekend so that they would come back to Scranton on Christmas Eve, but if they were stranded in New York for Christmas, Jim knew it would be okay. Something about New York in the winter was strangely comforting to him, and had been since he'd watched _Home Alone 2: Lost in New York_ at the tender age of 14. He had grown up two hours away and had never been to the city before, so the Macaulay Culkin flick was his first lucid introduction to the city with which he had somehow become obsessed. He would never admit to anyone – except Pam, and then only if he had to – that he owned two copies (on VHS and DVD) of each _An Affair to Remember_, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, _Sleepless in Seattle_, and _When Harry Met Sally_, and that he kept them hidden in his film collection in a box marked "Jim's Porn", which he hoped would throw off any snoops. Those films, along with the second instalment in the terrible _Home Alone _series, allowed Jim to create the cocoon of perfection within which New York nestled – complete with flashy Fifth Avenue window displays, snowflakes the size of your eyes, carollers on every corner, and a hotel room with a big fireplace and a Christmas tree in the lobby.

New York. At Christmastime. With Pam. He couldn't imagine a better setting for the start of the biggest chapter of his life.

--

"Jim, why don't you just go out and explore the city a bit," Pam sniffled as she sprawled herself, half passed out on the queen bed in their hotel room.

"Are you serious?" Jim asked, disbelieving. He'd known she was sick – she'd come in coughing and hacking that morning – but it had seemed to get better by the end of the day. He sat down next to her on the bed and rubbed her back, "I thought you were getting over it."

"It's just a stomach flu," she said softly. "It'll be gone by tomorrow. We didn't have plans for tonight anyway, did we?"

Jim felt the ring box in his pocket. His heart dipped a little but he smiled in spite of it. "No. Not really," he lied, kissing the top of her head and smoothing her curls out against her back. "You'd better get better then."

"Aye aye," she whispered, rolling over slowly and smiling at him as she saluted. She was pale, and her forehead burned when Jim put his fingers there.

Jim sat there for a moment, and then he shook his head, "Forget it! What am I doing? I'm not going anywhere."

"No, Jim…," Pam sat up, and started coughing. Jim put his hands on her shoulders and tried to coax her back down, but she wouldn't be budged. "You wanted to go out and have fun. So go out and have fun. Please."

"I can't!" he laughed.

"If you stay here, you'll just get sick and then tomorrow will be ruined."

Jim kissed her, "I think my chances of avoiding your sickness are pretty slim now, Beesly," he grinned, "Besides, we Halpert's have superior genes… ."

Pam smacked him, "I don't want to think about Dwight now," she whined.

Jim considered her for a moment, marvelling at how beautiful she was despite her illness, the way her eyes still sparkled as she looked back, or the way her hair curled around her face so perfectly. He wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming.

"Go, Jim."

He smiled at her. "I'll tell you what," Jim said, picking up the phone, "I'll put them on-call with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some chamomile tea… ."

"I hate chamomile," she whispered.

"Then you pick the tea," Jim smiled at her, "You just call when you need it…," he moved the receiver to his mouth, "Yeah, hi, Jim Halpert here… I've got a very sick girlfriend who will be needing extra special attention this evening… yes, that would be great… she can just call down when she wants it? Perfect. Thanks very much."

He hung up the phone.

"See?" she asked, resting her head against the pillow, "Was that so hard?"

"Terribly," he joked, leaning in for a kiss. He handed her the remote and put the box of Kleenex on her side of the bedside table, then pulled the blankets out from under her, forcing her to get in and cover up. When she was sufficiently tucked in, Jim once again sat down and stroked the side of Pam's face. "Are you sure?"

"Just go before I cough on you," she said, taking a deep breath. Jim cut her off with a kiss and stood up. "Take pictures. I want something I can paint when we get back."

"Will do," he said, grabbing her camera and putting it in his pocket. It clacked against the ring box, and Jim felt himself get pulled down by the thought that tonight hadn't panned out the way he'd wanted. A proposal at Rockefeller Plaza, or on the Empire State Building. Cheesy, he knew. But it would have been pretty memorable.

He pushed the thoughts aside, "See you soon, Pam."

"Bye lover," she said with a wink before breaking into another fit of coughs. Jim just laughed and headed out the door.

--

_Jim is standing on a ledge overlooking skaters at Rockefeller Plaza._

Jim: I guess it'll have to wait until tomorrow night, now. Which is no big deal. It's just a day, right? (_Pause_) It gives me some time to prepare my Christmas gift for Pam. I mean, aside from proposing. I can't top that, so I'm not even trying. I'm making Pam a mixtape. (_He grins_) Yeah, seriously… we watched that movie _High Fidelity_ about a month ago, and she casually mentioned that she thought it would be nice to get a mixtape made especially for her, like her own soundtrack. It wasn't a hint, she was just saying it, but it was a good idea. So I've been compiling songs since then that remind me of her or that she's said she likes – we're both really into Sufjan Stevens right now. (_he shrugs_) Anyway… I need to buy some CDs still. (_He glances at his watch_) It's only 7:30. The stores will be open for a little while still, so… .

_A voice can be heard off camera. A female voice. "Jim?" Jim turns to look in the direction of the sound, and the camera follows. Karen, standing in a black wool coat, accessorized in red, is standing a few feet away. The camera turns back to find a completely and utterly flustered Jim staring back.  
_

--

Jim stared blankly at his ex-girlfriend, "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was about to ask you the same question." Karen smiled and Jim couldn't help but feel his knees go weak.

"Pam and I are here… it's our anniversary… ."

Karen nodded, "Where is Pam?"

"Back at the hotel," Jim said, "She's sick."

Again, Karen nodded. She shuffled her feet; the sound seemed to echo despite the roar of the water behind them. Jim watched her, studied her. In the amber glow of the street lamps, she looked different. Her hair was shorter, and she'd styled her bangs differently, sweeping them across her forehead a little more dramatically than before. She looked thin; Jim wondered she was or if it was just the way the shadows cut across her face. She smiled.

"What have you been up to?"

"Um… just… not much… ." Jim coughed, "You?"

"Same."

Karen grinned again, "You know, it's so funny, every time I bump into you, Pam's not here," she said. "Remember Halifax?"

Jim shrugged and made a face, "Yeah, weird. No, but she's really sick." He coughed again, "It's our anniversary."

"You said that already."

"Oh." He played with the box in his pocket.

--

_When I look in the mirror__  
Tracing lines with a pencil  
I remember what came before…_

Jim (_talking head_): Is it wrong that, since Halifax, I haven't been able to really stop thinking about Karen? (_he shrugs, looking away from the camera with a shake of his head_) I mean, really… what's the matter with me?

--

_The camera cut to Jim and Karen walking away from the lights of the Plaza. _

Karen (_V.O._): Of all the people I thought I might possibly bump into, in the busiest city in the world, on the last weekend before Christmas… standing in the crowd at Rockefeller Plaza, where oddly enough I'd always imagined I'd meet up with him again, like in some dumb Cary Grant movie… (_she sighs_)

_Camera cuts to the view inside a coffee shop. Karen is leaning against a wall; Jim is sitting at the table in the background sipping from a mug._

Karen: ...Jim was absolutely the last person on that list. (_Pause. She hears the song playing on the café speakers, Norah Jones and the Peter Malick Group's "New York City". Her smile spreads, and she begins to sway a little, humming the tune_) Would you believe me if I told you that Jim sings a mean karaoke version of this song? It's true… I'm sure someone got it on tape back in Stamford… it was kind of like... our song, I guess... (_She smiles and looks over her shoulder at Jim, then casts her eyes down to the floor_). He gave me his number. For the office in Scranton. And his home and cell numbers. I told him I'd lost them all. But I didn't really. (_She shrugs_) Who knows... .

_I wanted to think there was endless love  
Until I saw the light dim in your eyes  
In the dead of the night I found out  
Sometimes there's love that won't survive…_

--

_Hotel lobby, later that night._

Jim (_talking head_): Maybe it wasn't fair to give up on Karen like I did when we got back to Scranton. But I had a chance with Pam. I mean, she wasn't engaged, and the only thing standing between us was Karen. I don't know… it seemed like the right decision at the time… (_shakes his head_) No it was, it _absolutely was _the right decision. I'm so happy with Pam… (_Pauses_) Maybe it's just cold feet. Maybe it's the fact that I'm going to propose to Pam tomorrow night… . (_he takes a deep breath; he starts humming the same song under his breath, and stops when he remembers the camera is watching him_) Wow… what is _wrong _with me?

_New York City  
Such a beautiful disease…_


	19. Cause the Chase is All You Know

**A/N: Okay, so I realize you are all hating me right now for suggesting that Jim and Karen are going to get back together. But let me just say that I have a good reason for everything I'm doing and I plan on doing justice to the storyline, the characters, and to all of you who have stuck with me. So before you judge too harshly, remember that I promised you all a nice, big, fat, happy, JAM-my ending… and I will deliver. :D**

**This chapter will probably go along pretty quickly, and I hope it will catch us up to the pivotal moment in Pam and Jim's relationship. Chapter title borrowed from Death Cab for Cutie's "Your Heart is an Empty Room". (I originally had the Needtobreathe song "More Time" here, but I decided that this one fit better...)  
**

**Enjoy (try to, at least, for me…).**

--

When Jim crawled into bed, it was midnight. Pam pretended to be asleep; she could smell coffee on his breath as he kissed her in the fleshy part where her neck met her shoulder. His hands sought out the curve of her hips and travelled down the outside of her leg, and through the thin chemise she wore she felt how cold they were. _Must have been outside_, she thought as she pretended to unconsciously snuggle closer. She wouldn't dream of asking him to stop, not for anything, even the icy cold of his fingertips. She loved how soft his hands were, loved the feel of them against her skin. It hadn't been something she'd thought about a lot before. In her mind, men were supposed to have rough hands, hands that showed the work they did every day. But that all changed the first time Jim had touched her. She'd just held his hand for a split second, but it was enough to marvel at how soft and warm a man's hands _could _be. No bumps, no split skin, so calluses, so dirt under the fingernails. The worst thing Jim had to deal with was a paper cut now and then. She didn't think any less of him for not having the hands of a mechanic or a warehouse worker. He made beautiful things with his hands – when he played guitar, on the rare occasions when he did that for her; when he took snapshots for her to paint; when he typed emails to her. Those hands made her tremble.

He was trailing his hand up her flat stomach, under the swell of her breasts. She shivered. Pam loved to be touched by Jim. But why were his hands so _cold_?

--

_Wednesday morning, December 27th_

_Pam and Jim walk in hand in hand, smiling. He hangs up her coat for her as she sits down and turns on her computer._

Jim (_V.O._): We had a good Christmas. Quiet. Pam's mom came in for Christmas Eve, and my parents are here for New Years. So they'll get to meet, which is nice.

_Cut to Jim, sitting in the conference room, looking at the floor. He looks up and shakes his head sadly_.

Jim (_cont'd_): (_He shakes his head_) I didn't do it.

--

Pam (_talking head_): I don't know what's wrong with Jim lately. He's been acting strange ever since New York. We had a great trip. I think the holiday stress just got to him. (_She looks at the camera, a phony smile on her lips. It fades and she bites her lip, looking back over her shoulder at Jim's desk_).

--

_January 15. A Tuesday._

_Jim is at Pam's desk, leaned over and helping her with her game of Solitaire, eating a handful of jellybeans, and saving the black ones in a pile beside him._

Jim: Eight on nine.

Pam: Thanks (_She smiles at him and clicks the mouse_). You should play your own game sometimes.

Jim: Where's the fun in that? (_He pops a red jellybean into his mouth_) Besides, I don't have a jellybean jar on my desk. If I did, it might be another story.

Pam: (_grinning_) And there's no other reason why you come up here?

_Jim pauses, leans over the desk and kisses Pam on the cheek. _

Jim: I could think of a few.

Pam: (_giggling_) Could you now?

Jim: (_eating another jellybean, he raises his eyebrows at her_) Mm-hmm… (_deposits another black jellybean in the pile, motions to the screen_) Two of diamonds can go up.

_Dwight storms over to the reception desk._

Dwight: Pam… (_holds up a stack of paper_) There is a paperclip in the photocopier. Every time I go to print my sales reports, it comes out looking like this.

_Camera zooms in on the page; sure enough, on every sheet in the middle of the page, is the image of a paperclip. Pam casts a glance at Jim, who sniggers into his knuckle as he perches his chin in his hand, still leaning against reception._

Pam: What do you want me to do about it?

Dwight: Uh… fix it?

Pam: I'm not a mechanic, Dwight. (_She grabs the Yellow Pages_)I'll call the repair guy for you.

Dwight: (_sighs loudly_) Never mind. I'll do it.

_He stalks off to the copier. Jim and Pam share a laugh._

--

Jim (_talking head_): I photocopied a paper clip. And then I put the photocopied papers into the copier tray before Dwight began printing his sales reports about an hour ago. (_shrugs_) There's no paperclip in the photocopier. But far be it from me to stop Dwight from completing his epic quest to find it anyway.

--

_Back at reception…_

Pam: So what are you doing for lunch?

Jim: Got a hot date.

Pam: Really. Must be lucky.

Jim: She sure is.

Pam: I meant you.

Jim: Um, you are joking right? (_He runs a hand across his forehead, sweeping his hair to the side like a cocky playboy_) Because I'm told I'm quite the catch.

Pam: (_grinning_) I'd throw you back.

Jim: Why is that?

Pam: (_Shrugging and looking up at him almost apologetically_) Dorky's not quite my type.

_Jim smile, but his attention is drawn down to his cellphone holder on his hip; he takes out his phone and flips it open, grins, then begins texting. Pam watches with curiosity._

Jim: You've been paying a lot of attention to me lately, Beesly. Are you sure dorky isn't your type.

Pam: Yeah, I'm sure. (_She glances up at him and then back to the screen_) Who was that you were texting?

Jim: Oh it's nothing. (_He finishes and snaps the phone closed_). What time do you want me to pick you up?

Pam: 12:02 pm by the coat rack.

Jim: Done.

_Jim scoops up the black jellybeans and jiggles them in his hand as he turns and walks back to his desk. When he gets there, he deposits the candies on Dwight's desk with a smile that Dwight doesn't return as he systematically flicks each one into the garbage can he's lifted to desk level. Jim shrugs and looks at Pam, as if to say "What'd I do?"; Pam watches him, smiles back, the sadness in her eyes palpable._

--

_February 11. Monday._

_The office is deathly silent. The only sound heard is fingertips on computer keyboards the barely audible buzzing of electrical appliances. Creed is sleeping, and everyone suspects Michael is doing the same. It's snowing outside. _

_Jim and Dwight sit at their computers. Dwight is alternating between staring at his screen and eyeing Jim suspiciously. Jim pretends to be impervious to the distraction. After several minutes, Dwight swivels in his chair._

Dwight: Question – is it ever a good idea to propose on Valentine's Day?

_Jim snaps to attention, looking first over to reception, then over to Dwight. As if realizing who it is he is talking to, his eyes soften and he grins a little._

Jim: Are you taking another quiz in _Seventeen_, Dwight?

Dwight: Ha ha, very funny. No, as a matter of fact… .

Jim: (_interrupting_) No wait, don't tell me… you hit it off with someone who answered that ad in the PGN. Congrats – when's the wedding?

Dwight: Have you ever been serious about anything in your entire life?

Jim: (_drops his smile_) You're right, Dwight. I'm sorry that I don't take your love life seriously.

_Dwight looks at Jim for a long moment, squinting his eyes through his glasses. Finally, he wrinkles his nose._

Dwight: No. Apology rejected.

_He swivels back to face his computer screen. Jim looks up at the camera, a pathetic look on his face_.

--

Jim: (_talking head_) No. I haven't asked her yet. (_Pause_) Of course I still want to -- I just can't find the right moment. When Dwight started talking about Valentine's Day, I thought that might be a good time. Maybe. (_There's a barely perceptible sadness in Jim's eyes as he looks away from the camera, to the side. It's gone when he looks back, shaking his head_) I can't believe I'm considering borrowing an idea from _Dwight Schrute. _That should rule it out right there, but... oddly enough... . (_He trails off, shrugging_)

--

_February 14. Thursday._

Pam (_talking head_): All I hear, every day, day in and day out, is how wonderful Valentine's Day is going to be this year. Phyllis is married now, so she's all set. Then there's Kelly and Daryl, which is... great... for them. And Andy keeps practicing this horrible song on the banjo in the break room which I think he's going to serenade Angela with on the big day, so you can imagine how well that's going to go over. It's just all over the place. You can't escape it. (_She pauses, never breaking eye contact with the camera_) I don't know what we're doing, but... I'm not expecting much. (_Still, she smiles, playing with the thought_)

_Camera cuts to watch Pam answering phones. Her eyes light up as she sees the delivery guy coming in with a package._

Delivery Guy: Sign here. And here.

_Pam signs and smiles, taking the package. The camera zooms in on the brown wrapper; Jim's name is in the 'To' line. Pam's expression shifts from happiness to disappointment as she lightly presses her fingers over the 'From' address: Karen Fillipelli, Dunder Mifflin Utica, Inter-Office Mail._

_Moments later..._  
Pam (talking head): Am I upset? Why would I be upset? I think Jim stays on good terms with all of his exes, so... .

_Cuts to show short flashback of Pam, watching Jim carefully, as she puts the package into her bag, cautious so as to avoid getting caught. When she notices the camera, she sits up straight and gets back to work._

Pam (_V.O._): It really makes me feel better because, if we break up, at least I know I'll still have him in my life. (_Pause; the camera cuts back to the conference room, where Pam is wearing an expression of desperation_) Right?

--

Jim (_talking head_): (_Defensively_)Okay... so I've been texting Karen. And emailing her. And talking to her on the phone. At home and at work. (_He pauses_) In my defense, she's just gone through a major upset at work and had to fire two people, and corporate is breathing down her neck because sales are down. She hasn't made too many friends in Utica, and yeah, I didn't make any part of her life any easier this year, so I guess I kind of feel responsible. (_He shrugs, getting a bit more defensive_) It's nothing. I'm in love with Pam. End of story. (_Pauses again; he steels himself and sits up a little straighter in his chair, looking directly into the camera_) And... I'm... going to propose tonight, so... yeah. That's that. Not much more to it, is there?


	20. Live Through This

**A/N: Hope you like it!! Thanks for the support, and the criticism, and the comments, and the suggestions... let's keep it coming! :) Chapter title borrowed from the song "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" by Stars (used to be "Fire Eye'd Boy" by Broken Social Scene, but this song seemed to fit better… this is what happens when you second guess your first choice!)**

* * *

"So what'll it be?" Jim asked as he slid into the driver's seat after work. "Chez Hal_pert_ or Club Beesly?"

On any other day, Pam would have laughed at the way he had made his name sound French or the funny face he made when he said it. Today, she just pulled her seatbelt around her midsection and clicked it into place with a sigh. "Whatever you want," she whispered, suddenly wishing she had brought her own car instead of carpooling with Jim that morning.

He didn't seem to notice. "Well we haven't been to your place in a while."

"That's fine," Pam said, "I have nothing to eat."

"Oh we can do dinner out, if you want."

"Did you make reservations anywhere?"

Jim shook his head, and realized his mistake, "I thought you said you didn't want to go out for dinner tonight?"

Pam sighed inwardly. _That was before today, _she thought. Flashbacks of the many Valentine's Days that had come before, the many disappointments she'd felt in her romantic life that always seemed to cluster around February 14th, clouded her mind. She looked over at Jim. He was sincere as he looked her way, worry creasing his brow.

"I can call Mark, he knows a guy who runs the kitchen down at the Olive Garden… ."

Pam smiled, though she didn't want to, and put her hand over Jim's as it rested on the hand brake. "Jim, it's fine. Don't worry about it. Let's pick something up, take it home, and watch a movie or something."

Jim studied her, reading her expression for the telltale signs of lying. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," Pam smiled, nodding. "We'll make it nicer than any Valentine's Day before this."

Jim didn't seem to believe her. Still, he put the car in reverse and started the drive home.

"Is everything okay?" he asked after a long silence.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Pam had asked in reply. Her absent stare out the side window gave her away.

"You've been… weird. All day."

Pam sighed. She could feel the package in her lap, deep inside her bag. She squirmed a bit, turning to face him. "Jim, this is going to sound weird, but I have to ask."

"Shoot." He was staring out the front window.

Pam wondered what his reaction would be. She steeled herself for whatever came her way. "Are you… what I mean is, have you been…," she sighed, pausing, searching for the words. "Are you cheating on me? With Karen?"

Jim's face contorted into a sceptical smirk, "Are you serious?"

"Is that a yes or a no, Jim?"

He looked at her and quickly returned his eyes to the road. "Pam…," he sighed. The light a block away turned red, and Jim applied the brake; as the car slowed down, Pam watched Jim's hands tense and relax around the steering wheel. She suddenly wished she hadn't asked. "Okay. Karen and I talk. I mean, we phone each other occasionally. We email once in a while too, but… ."

Pam stared out the window in front of her, into the darkness of the northern hemisphere winter's night – the kind that completely saps your strength and every ounce of happiness you would have felt if the sun only stayed out an hour later in the evening, or rose even an hour earlier each morning – and felt her heart plummet between her knees.

"But we're not _sleeping_ together."

"You call her?" Pam choked out.

"It started back in New York… ."

"New York?" Pam asked, genuinely surprised. "What happened in New York?"

Jim had that deer-in-the-headlights look he sometimes got around Michael, the one that made Pam laugh every time the cameraman caught him and they actually kept it in the show. "At Christmas, when we went… you were sick, and I went out and took those photos you wanted… I bumped into Karen… ."

Pam shivered, remembering how cold he'd felt that night.

"You 'bumped into' her?" she asked.

"Pam, really."

The light had turned green, and Jim accelerated for a few blocks before switching on the turn signal and exiting onto the tree lined street where Pam's rented duplex was located. Pam felt short of breath. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"I didn't think I had to clear my friends with you, Pam." He looked over at her, his face a mix of shock and shame. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

But Pam wasn't looking at Jim. She saw the truck in the driveway before anything else. Even in the dark, she'd know that truck anywhere. When she didn't respond to Jim's apology, he returned his eyes to the road, not immediately seeing what Pam saw. In a moment, his eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his seat.

"Shit."

"Just keep driving."

But Jim was already slowing down, pulling into the carpark next to Roy's vehicle. Roy was leaned up against the hood, holding a bouquet of flowers. When he saw Jim's car, he stood up, staggering. Pam had feared he would be drunk.

"Stay here," Jim said as he turned off the car and proceeded to undo his seatbelt.

"Jim, no. Stop it."

But he was already opening the door and stepping onto the icy ground. "Roy, what are you doing here?'

"Wha… what're _you _doin' here, Halp… Halpert?"

"Just leave. There's nothing here for you anymore. Just leave."

"Pammy's here for me," he looked over at Pam, standing by the still-open passenger door. "Ain't ya, babe?"

"No Roy, I'm not."

"I brought you flowers." He thrust his hand out and the flower package slipped a little. He caught it in his other gloved hand. "I know you… like flowers. Carnations, you're favourite."

"They aren't her favourite," Jim said.

"Did anyone ask _you_?" Roy demanded, taking a step and losing balance. He fell forward and pressed his hand against the hood of Jim's car.

"Pam you need to go inside," Jim said.

"I don't need to do anything," Pam said, levelling her eyes at Roy.

"Yeah, she doesn't need _you _to tell her what to do," Roy said, "She called me over here, did she tell you that, pretty boy… ."

Pam shook her head, "I called you to tell you to stop calling me."

"But I… I love you so much," Roy said, stumbling again towards her. She took a step back.

"Roy, Jim is right. Go home."

"Don't you love me?"

"No I don't. Not anymore. Now please, go home."

Roy frowned and, a scant moment later, threw the flowers in her direction. She ducked, but they missed her entirely, landing in the snow a good three feet to her right. Jim stepped towards Roy quickly and spun him around by the collar. When they were standing face to face, Jim let him go; the action of spinning made Roy's drunken dizziness worse, and he fell down. Pam's instinct was to help, but she stayed behind her passenger door.

"Listen up Roy!" Jim yelled as he towered over Roy, "I don't know who the hell you think you are. I don't care about what happened between you and Pam. _It's over_!"

Roy rolled over and looked up at Jim. "Fuck you."

Jim clenched his teeth and prepared to level a kick right into Roy's ribcage, but Pam ran out from behind the door and grabbed Jim's hand.

"It's not worth it. Jim, let's go inside." She could feel Jim's hand trembling; Pam had never, _ever_ seen Jim so angry. She squeezed his hand in hers and pulled him towards the door. "Come on. Let's go."

"We're calling the police if you don't leave in thirty seconds," Jim spat. "Starting now."

They left Roy on the pavement where he'd fallen, from drunkenness as well as his own stupidity. Pam's hand shook as she attempted to open the lock, and as soon as it was open and they were inside, Jim reached for the phone.


	21. Please Don't Lose Hold of Me

Pam's hand clamped down on Jim's as he lifted the receiver off the hook

Pam's hand clamped down on Jim's as he lifted the receiver off the hook. "Don't."

"Excuse me?" Jim asked, turning to look at Pam.

"Give him a moment," Pam pleaded. "He'll leave."

Jim shook his head and put the phone to his ear. "Sorry, but I'm not taking any chances. The man has tried twice to clobber me. He's drunk, in your driveway, and in the mood to try for a third time."

Pam stomped past Jim and into her kitchen, "You are so _unbelievable_!"

At this, Jim slammed the phone down on the base. "What the hell, Pam?" he fumed. Pam unwrapped the scarf from her neck, throwing it over the back of a kitchen chair. She didn't say a word. The sound of a truck's engine turning over could be heard from the driveway. Pam closed her eyes and waited until she couldn't hear the vehicle anymore, then let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"He shouldn't be driving," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jim looked at her. "Why are you defending him? Why do you even care?"

Pam shrugged, "He was a big part of my life for a decade, Jim."

"But he's dangerous when he's like that."

"And that's why he shouldn't be driving," she shook her head. "We should have called him a cab… ."

Jim ran his hands through his hair, "Oh, now that's one I haven't heard before. Calling the man who threatens to kick your boyfriend's ass a cab so he can make it home safely, while not allowing said boyfriend to call the police for his own defense." Jim rolled his eyes and took off his coat. "And when were you going to tell me that he'd been calling you?"

"I hadn't planned on it at all, actually," Pam replied.

"Really?" he said. "And why not? Can I ask that?"

"I didn't think it was any of your business, to be perfectly honest with you."

Jim rolled his eyes, "None of my business? Your violent, angry, jealous ex-fiance is harassing you and that's none of my business?"

"I can take care of myself. I don't need your help," Pam shrugged. "I had it under control."

Jim motioned to the door, "Under control?"

"I didn't know he'd do _this_," she raised her voice. "He's still in love with me and he's having a harder time getting over it than I have."

"Have you?" Jim asked, his voice carrying the unmistakable mark of accusation. Pam felt as if she'd been slapped. She'd never heard him talk that way, ever.

She fidgeted with the tablecloth. "We didn't get dinner," she said absently.

"That's all you have to say?" Jim asked. "You can't even give me a straight answer anymore! Come to think of it, you never give me a straight answer about anything to do with Roy!"

"Like what?" Pam shot back.

"Like… like why you got so scared that night in Halifax," Jim said. "We were having fun, and then all of a sudden you freak out. Why? What did Roy do to you to make you so scared?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it," Pam said.

"Fine, but you've gotta know that every time something like that happens, and you get all clammed up and secretive, it makes it just that much harder to pick up the pieces and start over," Jim was talking with his hands, waving them erratically. "And it seems like we're always picking up pieces to start over, and I'm sick of doing it all by myself and with half the information."  
"I'm sorry," Pam said, levelling her eyes, "There. Are you happy?"

Jim exhaled loudly. "No! Jesus." He ran his hands through his hair.

Pam threw her hands in the air, "Then what do you want from me, Jim? Just say it!"

Jim turned to face her, "Are you still in love with Roy?"

Pam felt fire flash in her eyes. She picked up her workbag and began rooting through it at the table. When her fingers found the package, she picked it up. "Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on between you and Karen first?" She threw the package at him.

He stared down at the box in his hands, reading the labels and flushing red. A box of chocolates was what he unwrapped. He blushed in embarrassment, though he couldn't really figure out why. Jim put it down on the table next to the door. "Nothing is happening, Pam. I don't know where she gets off doing this, but I swear to you, Karen and I are just friends."

"Friends?" Pam quizzed.

"We've been talking, email, text messages," Jim admitted. "She was having problems at work… ."

"Oh riiiight," Pam rolled her eyes, "Tell me another one."

Jim shrugged, "I don't have to ask your permission to spend time with my friends. And that's all Karen and I are: friends. That's it."

"Since when?" Pam asked.

"Since Christmas. In New York."

Pam felt her knees buckle and begin to give way. New York. _Their _New York trip. She remembered the way his hands felt that night, so cold against her skin. She shivered and felt behind her for the chair.

Jim noticed her growing uneasy. "We met up that first night. It was a fluke. I had coffee with her. You were sick, remember?"

She had barely heard what he said. Her mind whirled. "I can't believe this… ."

"Pam, _nothing_ is going on."

"What does she have?" Pam asked quietly, not sure if Jim heard her. Pam knew Karen was pretty. She was successful, driven. Obviously very smart. Pam had a lot going for her, and none of the things she listed off for Karen were any more amazing than the things Pam already possessed.

Save one.

Pam raised her eyes to meet Jim's. "Why did you immediately assume something was going on between Roy and I?"

"I didn't, I just… ."

"You did. You know you did."

Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Pam… he's here, on Valentines Day, with flowers… and let's not forget that you have this nasty habit of picking Roy over me, so… ."

Pam thought about how hard she'd been trying to put her past behind her, and how futile it all was because Jim didn't believe her when she said she was his. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she asked, shaking her head, "That's it, isn't it?"

Jim instantly regretted what he'd said. "I didn't mean… ."

"Yes you did." Pam's voice was soft, focused. She looked down at her hands, wondering how it had come to this so quickly. "You don't trust me, do you Jim?"

"Pam, of course I do."

"If you did, you wouldn't have reacted so jealously out there," she pointed to the door. "You were more jealous of Roy than he was of you." Maybe it wasn't true, but it wasn't far off. Pam had never seen Jim react so violently, so passionately, about anything before.

"Don't compare me to Roy," Jim said, lowering his voice.

"I never have until tonight."  
Jim shook his head sadly, and Pam could see tears in his eyes. "What exactly are you saying, Pam?"

"I'm saying that maybe there are some larger issues here that we've been avoiding. Issues about me and Roy, and you and Karen."

"There are no issues," Jim said.

"Then why are you asking me about Roy?"

"I could say the same thing about you asking me about Karen."

"See? Larger issues."

Jim grew silent.

Pam had begun to cry silent tears as she sat at the table. There was a lot she had refused to tell Jim, not wanting him to get upset. She never told Jim about the really good stuff – the fun times she'd had with Roy when they were first dating back in high school – because it wouldn't have served any real purpose, and it had never come up. And she never told him the dark side, about Roy's drinking and the fights and the not-so-consensual sex that happened more than a few times, times which had scared Pam witless and which she hadn't wanted to revisit. She wasn't hiding; she just hadn't healed herself yet to the point that she _could_ share some of these things with Jim. She was sure he had secrets too; she had never pried or insinuated herself into those places where she didn't belong just yet. _How in the world could Jim expect anything different from himself? _Pam wondered as she wiped tears from her eyes.

The thought struck her hard. If she hadn't dealt with those issues yet, how in the world could she even begin to expect Jim to be okay with them? She let tears fill her eyes again.

"Jim?"

He crossed the kitchen in two strides and had his arms around her within a fraction of a second. She let him hold her, loved the feel of him, but at the same time she couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right.

Jim whispers were soothing in her ear. "I'm sorry."

Pam pulled away and looked up at Jim, "I need to figure some things out, Jim."

"There's lots of time," he replied, smoothing her hair down. "Lots of time."

She put her hands on his and gently guided them down, "I mean I need to figure it out _alone_."

"Figure what out?" Jim asked, his voice laced with worry.

Pam squinted her eyes, thinking of how to say what she needed to say. "I'm not… whole, Jim. I should have done that first before I did anything with you. And you'll never be able to commit fully to me because you don't trust me, and you won't trust me until I trust myself, and that won't happen until I figure this all out."

Jim looked down at the floor between them. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't know yet."

"I'm not confused about us, Pam. I love you," Jim was shaking a little, "But maybe you're right. Maybe we should just break up and see where it goes."

"Jim, I'm not… ."

But he was already backing away towards the door, "No, you're right. You're always right. You need to figure some things out and you can't do that while I'm here. So I'll leave you alone, Pam. I won't bother you. I won't call."

"Don't do this," she stepped towards him, her heart breaking.

Jim was trying hard to hold it together. "No, it's for the best. You can figure things out and we'll see where we are when that happens."

Jim's shift in character alarmed Pam. She wiped tears from her eyes. "I don't want this."

"Well I do."

"That's a lie."

"Is it?" Jim asked. "I couldn't lie to you. I've never lied to you. Surely you must have known that – trusted that – about me, after all these years."

Pam brought her hands to her eyes. "Fine then!" she hollered at him, "Go! Be my guest. Throw this away. See if I care."

Jim stood for a moment in silence, then grabbed the box of chocolates – angrily, making sure Pam saw that he was taking them – opened the door, and walked away.

--

It had been a reaction, a knee-jerk thing he'd done in the spur of the moment because he was angry and a part of him just wanted to hurt her the way she had when she'd suggested that he had been unfaithful.

He hated himself the moment the door closed behind him and he heard Pam throw something at the door where he'd been, because he _never_ wanted to hurt her, not really, not like this. He didn't want to break up. He didn't want to walk away. The bouquet of flowers from Roy stuck out in the snow bank. Jim grabbed it and the chocolates and threw them hard down into the garbage can.

Anger had forced him out the door; pride prevented him from pushing his way back in. He wondered if he'd ever forgive himself.


	22. When You're Gone, Will I Lose Control?

**A/N: Okay, so I know it's been a while since I posted, but I wanted to get this right and make sure that I didn't butcher it. Now I know you're all going to be mad at me for not making this one a super happy chappy, but I'm winding it down now and after this little bump, things will start looking up. I promise. Reviews are appreciated. Chapter title borrowed from Lights (again!); the song is called "Drive My Soul".**

* * *

After tossing and turning all night long, Jim awoke in the sober grey light of a Friday February morning and decided to put it all on the line and try to erase the mistakes he'd made. He got to work early, sat in the parking lot with the engine off even as the temperature dropped and his breath fogged up the windows, and waited for Pam. He fiddled with her Valentine's Day present – a compilation CD with many of her favourite songs on it as well some others he'd chosen from his collection that he knew she liked –hoping that every time he looked up, she would be there to give it to. But at five to nine, with no trace of her yet, Jim nervously slid the keys out of the ignition, locked up, and traipsed into the building. At nine o'clock, he made his first sales call, to a regular customer whose account was up for renewal. It was an easy sale, requiring next to no haggling or actual selling, and he closed within five minutes. At a quarter past, Michael – who was early for once – called a meeting with his sales team in the conference room. Jim didn't feel like laughing when Dwight was harassed by Stanley for bringing his breakfast – sauerkraut on toast, particularly disgusting, even for Dwight – with him into the meeting. He didn't pay attention to what Michael was saying; he watched the clock, watched her desk, waited for her.

By 9:45, Jim began to worry. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. Suddenly Dwight's offer of the rest of his own breakfast seemed tempting, but Jim refused on principle and went to root around in the fridge. He saw three containers of mixed berry yogurt on the middle shelf, and his stomach flip-flopped because he was forced to think about her (as if he wasn't thinking about her already). He jangled some coins in his pocket and went to the break room, choosing the last bag of pretzels just as Stanley walked in looking for a mid-morning snack. Jim sold him the bag of pretzels – he didn't feel like being yelled at – and resettled on a bag of Lay's. He hoped to see her when he rounded the corner into the bullpen, and couldn't describe his disappointment when he looked over to where she should be and found the space still vacant.

_Where is she? _

Instead of going to his desk, he threw the chips next to his computer and knocked on Michael's door.

"Hello Mello Yellow Jello!" Michael hollered in a sing-song voice as Jim opened the door. "Do the kids still say that?"

"I-I don't know," Jim stammered, "Have you heard from Pam?"

Michael squinted, "No siree, but I did hear from Ryan."

Jim shook his head and was about to close the door when Michael continued. "I guess Pam emailed him last night pretty late asking for a leave of absence. She said it was an emergency. She's asked for a month off."

"A month?" Jim asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a soft click, "Did she say why?"

Michael was clicking through his emails. He stopped and read over the email he'd received from Ryan, "No. She just said she wanted some personal leave and asked that it start immediately." Michael shook his head, "I didn't know you could even _do_ that."

Jim was sitting down now, his head in his hands. His silence prompted a look from Michael, who was suddenly concerned. "You didn't know?"

Jim's silence seemed to give him the answer he needed.

"Trouble in Paradise?"

_You could say that…,_ Jim thought as he stood up, thanked Michael, and walked out of the office to get some much needed air.

--

Pam called in sick on Friday, resolving to leave for her mother's that evening. She needed some things taken care of first, paying for her next month's rent and utilities a little early so she wouldn't have to worry about it when she was in Harrisburg, arranging for her neighbour to take in her mail. She packed. She forgot to eat. The day dragged on until the afternoon became dusk and she piled her things into the car and headed off for her mother's.

As she headed out onto the open road, her only regret was in not telling Jim that she was leaving in person. She had made the decision to leave late Thursday evening, shortly after Jim had left, after their fight; she had all day Friday to call him and arrange a meeting so she could tell him where she was going. But that whole day, she avoided the phone calls she knew were coming from Jim's desk. She ignored his voice on her answering machine and the words in the text messages, because she had made up her mind not to let anything stop her from doing what needed to be done. For right or wrong, Pam was avoiding Jim, because she knew that with one glance he would break her resolve to go and, perhaps, nothing would get solved. She couldn't risk it.

That didn't mean that she hadn't thought about it. Pam had no idea what had happened on Valentine's Day. She didn't _really _think he was sleeping with Karen; she was pretty sure he didn't _really _think she was still in love with Roy. _What were we even fighting about then? _She asked herself. _It's so stupid. It'll pass. _Yet the fight had ended with an air of finality that made her wonder if that was true. By the time she realized she needed him back, needed some consolation and reassurance that it wasn't the end, she raced to the window and found her driveway empty and dark. He hadn't waited. He hadn't come back. She sank to the floor and cried, and then she called her mother and told her she was coming to stay with her for a while.

That was right before she fired off the email to Ryan and told him in no uncertain terms that she needed some time off for personal leave. She hadn't cared about his reply – Dunder Mifflin was a job – at least _now_ it was, if it has been something more, something different, even a few hours earlier – and Pam could always get another one if her request was denied and they fired her instead. _Maybe I can finally go to art school_, she thought as she had slid behind the wheel of her car.

_But it needs to be done_, Pam thought. _I have to tell him_.

Wrapping her fingers around the steering wheel and staring ahead at the lines on the highway as they glowed in the headlight beams, Pam slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. The photo Jim had taken for her that chilly September morning when her world changed entirely stood in for a screensaver when she flipped open the front, exposing the blue LED glow of the keypad.

_Maybe you should paint this one day, _he'd told her. She still had that text message. And she had painted it, had been planning on giving it to him as a Valentine's Gift. It sat under a drop cloth behind her television in the living room, where it wouldn't be found. Hot tears sprang into her eyes as she thought about it.

The light from her phone seemed to fill the car with an eerie coldness and Pam shivered and turned the heat up. She began dialling his number, feeling the soft click each button made as it gave way under the pressure of her thumb. The road stretched on endlessly in front of her and behind her, completely emptied of vehicles; still she slowed down a bit as she pressed the phone to her ear, just to be safe.

She could hear ringing. Once. Twice. She grew impatient and her hand began to sweat, so she turned down the heat. He picked up, groggy as he said hello.

--

Jim was never one to drink heavily. Once in a while, at a party or something, he would indulge, but since college he had become much more of a social drinker. A beer here and there, shots on someone's birthday, a glass of wine if he was out for dinner… and that was it.

Friday night, Jim got so drunk he couldn't remember where he parked his car outside the pub. It didn't matter a few hours later, because the pub he went to was around the corner from his apartment – he knew that much, at least – so he just walked home. It was cold, and it sobered him up enough to navigate the dark and icy sidewalks without falling. He marvelled drunkenly over the fact that he hadn't thrown up, remembering the maxim of "liquor before beer…" – or was it the other way around? – and thanking whoever it was that taught him the rhyme back in junior high. Whatever order he had actually drank his beverages in, it had worked so far at keeping everything down.

Until he thought about Pam. That was two steps up the long flight of stairs leading to his apartment, and he fought to keep his stomach settled for the rest of the long climb. His heart thumped in his chest as his head finally found the soft pillow on the couch. He could smell her perfume, could see her face, hear her voice… and after months of togetherness, much of it in the very apartment in which he now sought comfort, he was beside himself without her.

Jim felt his drunk mind drifting off to sleep when he was startled awake by the sound of his phone ringing. He skinned his shin banging it into the coffee table as he fumbled around looking for it, cursing under his breath as his hand gripped the cordless contraption and he lifted it to his ear.

"Fuck… hello?" he slurred.

"Jim?"

Her voice brought alertness back to his mind. His eyes snapped open and he sat down. "Pam? Where are you?"

"I'm going to Harrisburg," she sounded steady, if far away. "I just need to get away for a while."

There was silence. It seemed endless, cavernous. Jim felt small, as if he could be swallowed up by it.

"What does that mean, Pam?" he finally asked.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah," Jim said, "A little. I'm sorry."

Pam sighed. "Jim, I don't mean this to be cruel. No one's to blame for this."

"Are we breaking up?"

She sniffled. "It's a pause. We're on pause."

Jim leaned back into the couch cushions and let his eyes close heavily. He could almost hear his eyelids scraping his cornea before dropping against the lashes of his lower lid, and the sound of it alone made him grimace in pain.

"Pause, huh?" he asked finally. "Well Pam, I'm not sure what to do with that."

She was silent for a while before admitting that she didn't know either.

"If this is really what you want… and there's nothing I can say to get you change your mind," he sighed. _Now would be the wrong time to propose…_ . He took another deep breath, "…If you have to do this, I can't stop you. I wouldn't." His voice was soft, and he hoped she understood his meaning. "I mean, I wish we could have talked this over."

"You left, Jim."

He nodded, because he knew it was true.

"It's not forever."

He almost laughed. Why was it that relationships were never on his terms?

She sniffled again; Jim thought he heard her crying. He sniffled himself, pressing a fist into his eye to stave off his own tears. "I'll miss you, Beesly."

Now he was sure she was crying, and he felt his own tears begin trickling down his wrist.

"Take care."

He didn't know if he'd said it or if it was her. It didn't matter. He took the phone away from his ear and pressed the 'Talk' button, disconnecting the call. He just sat on the couch with the phone in his hand, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then he stumbled off to his room, took the small velvet box out of his suit jacket pocket, and placed it deep within his sock drawer. _For safe keeping_, he told himself as he lay his head down on the pillow on his bed. _She might come back yet._

Before too many hours had passed, Jim was asleep in his bed, his tears dampening his pillow. And Pam, a million miles away, pulled off a snowy highway and waited for her sobs to subside before she drove on in the dead of night, away from Jim and home and everything that had once made sense.


	23. In Time I Will Come Around

**A/N: Chapter title from the John Mayer song "Not Myself". It's not the happiest chapter, but with Dwight almost spelling out his rescue plans for you by the end... well, you can be sure that it won't be long until everything is righted. Almost done -- I figure three more chapters ought to do it... we'll see... I really hope you enjoy!!**

* * *

_March 31, a Monday_

Michael (_talking head_): So yesterday, just as I was about to close up shop, I get this email from Pam. She says she's coming back on April 15. She must have really needed the va-cay, 'cause she took the month Ryan gave her and then for the last two weeks she's been on paid vacation leave. Starting next week, it's "bye bye paycheque", so… it must have been something serious to send her packing like that. (_Pause_) Plus, she loves us too much to leave us with the temp that replaced her (_shudders violently, and very visibly, until he realizes there's a camera documenting his every move; he straightens_) All I'm saying is that it had better be a good reason, or else… well… (_lowers his voice_) why would she leave us with _her?!_

--

Angela (_talking head_): So the hussy returns? (_Pauses in order to get her thin-lipped smile juuuust right_) It'll be interesting to see how she reacts when she finds out.

--

Kevin (_talking head_): Rumour has it that, at the Dunder Mifflin Annual General Meeting in New York, Jim and Karen hooked up. Again. (_smiles_) And again. And again.

--

Kelly (_talking head_): Yeah, so I heard those rumours, about Jim and Karen, and first I was like "No way!" because Jim and Pam are _sooooo_ cute together! And then I was like "But can you really trust Angela?" but then it got, like, _totally_ serious when I heard Kevin and Oscar talking about it, and even Toby seemed interested because he was asking them if they knew for sure that Pam was single, and it probably has something to do with those disclosure forms or whatever. Which reminds me, Darryl and I have to sign those, I think, even though he's in the warehouse, which is _totally_ hot, and I'm up here, so we're not really working together. But I do visit him a lot so maybe it counts. I like going down there because I get to walk down those steps and everyone stares and it's _totally_ a rush, and it's kinda like that scene in that movie with the girl and the guy in the factory or whatever and… . (_Camera cuts, in mid-sentence_).

--

Dwight (_talking head_): I wouldn't be surprised if the rumours are true. It wouldn't be the first time Jim went across state lines to have sex. (_Narrows eyes_)

--

Oscar (_talking head_): Just for the record, I went with Jim and Michael to New York for the AGM, as accounting rep because no one else wanted to drive to New York with Michael. Nothing happened. We spent one day there, had lunch at Chili's with Karen and this guy named Rick who is her ARM in Utica. That was it. Try telling that to this crew, though… (_quietly_) Look, I like Jim and Pam together. I like to think I wouldn't have let Jim screw it up even more than he obviously already has.

--

Jim (_talking head_): Am I excited that she's coming back? (_pauses; he readjusts his tie_) Well, that's a pretty loaded question. I've missed her. Her voice especially. We've been doing the email thing instead of phoning. Long distance can get expensive. And I don't have her mom's phone number. And she hasn't called me. Either. So… (_exhales loudly_) But on the whole, I think it'll be nice to see her again. We'll see what happens. (_Pauses, as if listening to a question; his face registers alarm_) No, there's nothing going on with Karen… .

--

_As if I need that right now_, Jim thought as he pushed himself up and out of the chair in the conference room and headed out the door. He nodded, in that that half "guy nod" he hated so much, towards the cameraman and excused himself. He knew that the rumours had been going around since the AGM two weeks earlier. He _had_ been particularly depressed upon his return, when he'd found out that Pam was going to be gone for another month. _I had to find out from Dwight_… he'd thought to himself at the time, and he felt the sting of rejection hurtling across the miles from Harrisburg and striking him square in the gut. But maybe it was enough to convince people that something _had_ happened in New York with Karen.

_And then there's Karen_. He had been seeing her more often, and he knew that she was starting to think there was a chance they could get back together. And, like some kind of cad in a 1960s pop art comedy, he hadn't told her in explicit terms that he wasn't interested, and he knew that it didn't matter where you were from, that was called 'stringing someone along' and he didn't like it. Yet he couldn't stop himself; it felt nice to be around people and laugh and talk and actually feel _wanted_ again.

_You walked out on Pam, remember that_ Jim's brain told him, while the other side chimed in, _Yeah, but she's the one who drove off across the state to get away from us_. Jim often wondered how his life had become such a mess. It didn't matter about Karen, and he had to tell her that and also that it wasn't about her specifically; he didn't even think he could handle a one-night stand with a complete stranger. He was still waiting for Pam.

He just didn't know if she was waiting for him.

When he left the office that night, saying goodbye to the middle-aged temp named Irene who had filled in at reception – Jim cringed every time she picked up the phone and answered "Dunder Mifflin, this is Irene"; it sounded just plain _wrong_ – he knew he was getting into his car to head for dinner with Mark and his new girlfriend, and that Karen was driving in from New York for a few days for vacation and would be joining them. _On her way to the Poconos_, Jim remembered, thinking that she must surely be aware that she'd be driving _through_ them in order to get to Scranton. _This has to stop...before Pam gets back, this has to be over. You have to be done._

As he almost literally fell into the driver's seat of his car, he felt like he was back where he'd been a year ago in Stamford: in love with a woman who didn't want him, and fighting an attraction to another who would always be a poor substitute for the first and would ultimately be blamed for not being her. As if it were Karen's fault she wasn't Pam. _Even Pam isn't really Pam lately_, Jim countered his own logic. _It's all just too complicated_, he thought as he turned the engine over. _It really shouldn't be... at all_. He sighed and briefly contemplated handing in his resignation, subletting his apartment, and running off to work on the Schrute Farm with Mose.

Surprisingly, it was the best idea he'd had all day.

--

_April 1, a Tuesday_

Dwight (_talking head_): I fully expected a barrage of pranks today, owing to the fact that it's April Fool's Day. So I had a few ideas of my own up my sleeve just in case. I even managed to pull one over on Jim. (_excited smile_) I rewrote the Wikipedia page about the metric system, and had it say that the United States was adopting the system and were going to start phasing out the Imperial system altogether. The first thing to go (_starting to chuckle_) would be the Imperial time system… as of tomorrow, there would be 100 seconds in a minute, 100 minutes in an hour, and 10 hours in a day. (_Lets himself laugh_) It was brilliance on my part! And Jim believed it! He bought it hook line and sinker!! (_He stops smiling after a moment_) Wait, there's something wrong here… Jim hasn't pulled a prank on me all day… and he actually fell for one of mine… that's not right… .

--

Jim (_talking head_): Really? (_With about as much enthusiasm as a sloth_) So I don't have to buy a new watch? That's good news. I don't feel like shopping. (_Flashes a lacklustre 'two thumbs up' at the camera_) Good one, Dwight.

--

Dwight (_talking head_): (_horrified as the crew shows him a clip of what Jim said_) Oh this is not good… (_realizes that his show of concern is uncharacteristic; he smoothes his shirt and straightens up_)… for Sales… and as a salesman, I must do something... to prevent my colleague from ruining the sales figures for this quarter... with his depression... . (_eyes camera knowingly_)


	24. Fight Off the Lethargy!

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Things are starting to wind down -- I hope you like it! :) Please email me or something if you see any glaring errors or omissions; as I write this, I am running on empty and have looked this chapter over so many times I could probably recite it word for word by now, so I've done my best to edit thoroughly but my best is... well... .**

**Chapter title borrowed from the Metric song "Combat, Baby", a fine song about fighting to regain what's been lost.**

* * *

_April 1… around dinner…_

Jim walked into his apartment and tossed his shoulder bag onto the chair by the door before checking the answering machine for messages, as had become his routine. The one message that blinked back at him had Karen's phone number attached to it. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and decided he didn't really want to hear it, not just yet; he had been hoping against hope that someone else had called and was bitterly disappointed that she hadn't. He went to the fridge and grabbed a can of grape soda and settled onto the couch. Kicking off his shoes, he set his feet up on the coffee table and switched on the television.

He knew what Karen had called about. The night before, after dinner, Jim drove Karen to her hotel. She had invited him in, and he had refused, being as non-specific as he could be about his reasons. It hadn't gone over well. Before he could even begin to explain, Karen faked a smile and left him in the car, telling him she understood. He knew she didn't, that she never would. He would have tried to make her understand, but how could he have explained all that it had taken him so long to understand, about himself, about Pam, about what they were, and what he and Karen could never be as a result? How could he tell her that, when he had felt her tiny hand in his as he walked her up to her front door, he saw how far he had let it go and how wrong he'd been to do it? He was always looking for the ending rather than enjoying the ride, and never believed that any of it was real or meant anything or that he deserved any of it at all. That was his fatal flaw; he'd known that for years. Being with Pam was no different than any other situation he'd been in; if it _had_ been different, he realized, Pam would have been the exception and not the rule.

And that's when he realized it. Karen was up on her tiptoes and kissing him softly on the lips, and Jim was thinking that maybe Pam _should _be the exception. Maybe she _was_, all along, and he hadn't fought hard enough for her because he still didn't believe he deserved her, it, happiness. And he knew then that, even if he was wrong, he had to try, because Pam had done so much for him already. So he broke away, left Karen, with no plan in mind, hoping it wasn't too late to start acting like an adult.

By 2:30 the next afternoon, immediately after doing his last scheduled one-on-one interview with the cameramen for that day, Jim fired off a one-sentence email to Pam. "We need to talk. It's important" was all he wrote before hitting 'Send'.

When he logged off his computer at 5:30 with no response yet, he felt slightly stupid for trying. But he didn't blame Pam and tried to be logical, rational. _Maybe her internet is down. Maybe she's not even near a computer. Give her a day or two to reply_, he reasoned. _It's her vacation, after all_.

The phone felt heavy in his hand as he picked it up off the cushion beside him. He knew he should call Karen, to try at least; after all the time spent together, and the simple fact that he had been – up until he'd tried the night before – less than forthcoming about _everything_, he felt he owed it to her to come clean. But he couldn't bring himself to push those buttons. CNN droned in the background, more coverage of the Democratic primaries, and Jim felt his eyelids grow as heavy as the phone as he listened to Wolf Blitzer and the other talking heads.

A knock at Jim's door drew his attention away from the television. He closed his eyes and tried to will the unwanted visitor away. But a second round of persistent knocks snapped his eyes open. He strode across the apartment and unlatched the top lock, then swung the door inward. He saw the svelte brunette dripping wet from the rain outside standing on the threshold, and he froze.

"I thought I'd surprise you. Did you get my message?"

Jim shook his head. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm here and you're here. What occasion do we need?"

Jim knew it was a come-on. He could see the way her eyes darkened as her pupils dilated, remembering from somewhere that it was a sure sign of affection that couldn't be faked. And he felt instantly bad that he hadn't done anything, said anything earlier. When she stepped towards him, he rocked back a little on his foot, keeping his distance. She stopped.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "If you're worried about last night, don't be. I know it's strange and we're… new at this… whatever this is…" she laughed, "Don't be strange. It's fine."

"Yeah, I think…," he put a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it there, "I think I just need some coffee. Would you like some coffee? We should have some coffee and then I think we should talk about some things."

"Sounds great!" she exclaimed, clutching her purse under her arm. "But first, can I use your bathroom? I'd like to try and dry off if I can." Karen asked. Jim didn't need to tell her where it was, and she walked off down the hallway. He filled the coffee pot with water and poured it absently into the reservoir. He was pretty sure he put too many scoops of coffee in the filter. His mind whirled. _Tell her when she gets back…_, Inner Jim said_. You have to tell her_. The aroma of coffee filled his small kitchen. He put his hands on the counter and waited for the coffee. Waited for Karen. Waited for emails. Waited.

Karen finally emerged, looking as if she'd aged ten years. She flashed him a quick smile. "I've got to go."

"Why? You just got here."

"No, it's best if I go." She was putting her shoes on, soggy socks squishing into narrow runners – he didn't even know she owned a pair.

"Why?"

She shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. "I know. It's not your fault." She sniffed and picked up her bag.

Jim was confused. "What are you talking about? Why are you crying? Were there no clean towels?"

Karen paused, her hand on the door. "I'm sorry if I ruined things."

Jim didn't have the chance to ask her what was going on; she walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her. Jim made his way towards the bathroom to see what had happened. The light was off, but his bedroom light was on. He peered in – _What was she doing in my room? _he wondered – saw the depression in the bed where Karen had been sitting. Next to the bed, in the light of his bedside lamp, he saw his sock drawer wide open. He wasn't even upset that she had been rooting through his clothes drawer; the girl was soaked from head to toe and was probably looking for some dry clothes or something. _Why else was she in my room? _"She could have asked…," Jim said out loud to no one as his eyes travelled to the table top and to what Karen must have also seen. The black box. The engagement ring. Pam's ring. _How did she know?_

He opened the lid, saw the ring glittering in the box. The inner lid of the box was silkscreened with the name of the jewelry store in Halifax where he'd bought the ring. Karen must have opened it. He pictured it – her tapered fingers opening the box, gasping at the diamond, seeing the jeweler's name and realizing that the ring was bought after they'd existed as an item, that even if he and Pam were never going to get together again, this ring would never sit on her finger because he'd bought it for someone else. He had wanted to tell her; but he wanted her to find out some other way than this.

With a sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed. Too tired and confused to think or do anything, except curse the curiosity of some women and trying to convince himself that she had made the choice to go into his sock drawer in the first place, Jim just leaned back against the pillows and drifted off into sleep.

--

_12 hours later, an entire state away…_

It wasn't overly early – Pam used to get up at this time to go to work – but after a month and a half of sleeping in until she was ready to wake up, Pam was feeling the strain of those lost hours pulling on her eyelids as she stared at her computer screen, watching the cursor blinking and taunting her, daring her to write back to the man she was still so desperately in love with. She had heard that Jim was spending a lot of time with Karen in Scranton; she didn't blame him. She didn't want to hold him back and that was why she'd left in the first place.

But then she'd been woken by that phone call... .

She could barely remember it, it had faded away like a dream almost immediately after it had happened. But now she recalled that her cell phone, ringing and ringing from deep within her purse, had gone off very early that morning. Pam had scrambled out of bed to answer it but it had already gone to voicemail – _Reminder: check voicemail_ she told herself as she sat up a little straighter in her chair and reached for her handset. She couldn't imagine who it was, unless it was a wrong number. _Nobody_ called that early.

_Except Jim._

Her confusion was replaced by a sudden sense of urgency as she scrambled to listen to the voicemail recording, fingers sliding over keys instead of pressing into them, phone slipping as her hands began to sweat. She cursed herself for drifting off to sleep again after the phone call instead of checking her voicemail right away; she cursed herself for not putting it together – the email and the phone call – sooner than she had done. They were just strange, isolated incidents until then, when she realized it might have been him trying to call her. Maybe there was something wrong. Maybe he needed her, and she had shunned him for an extra twenty minutes of sleep.

_We need to talk. It's important_.

She pressed the phone to hear ear and strained to hear the message. But it wasn't Jim's voice that greeted her with such urgency. Under normal circumstances, Pam wouldn't have given the caller a second thought. In fact, she still wondered if she should do anything at all, if it was her business, even though she knew he would be making a mistake, and even though she was angry and wanted to yell at him for turning his back on her. Yet on this morning, and without thinking about it too much, Pam threw on the first thing she could find and didn't bother telling her mother where she was going as she flew out the door to the carpark, thinking to herself as she ran: _I just hope I'm not too late_.

--

Jim dreamed about Pam all night. He imagined that the two of them were preparing to go on a space flight, and they were in their NASA spacesuits and all set to go, when Pam turned to him and started to talk. He could see her mouth moving but he couldn't hear her. He tried and tried to listen, straining inside his helmet, but he could just see her and she looked panicked and stressed. Then she was ushered on board the shuttle and Jim was forced to stay behind to wait for the next trip. She had been wrenched from him, arms flailing, and instead of running after her, he had stood on the deck and watched as she blasted off into space. When he awoke, the deep sense of loss he had felt in his dream lasted for a few minutes before he stood up and stretched, the ring box still clasped in his hand, went to the kitchen to turn off the burned, black, smelly mess of coffee in the kitchen from the night before, and flicked on his computer to check for email.

She had read it; he knew because he had requested a read receipt and had gotten one that morning. But there was no reply. No phone calls, no texts. Nothing. Dejected, Jim began running the shower. His phone rang twice before he realized what it was. He had just started to lather up his hair; turning off the scalding hot stream, he raced to the phone, towel wrapped around his waist and shampoo running down his back.

"Hello?" _Please be Pam, please be Pam… ._

It wasn't Pam. He almost hung up. "Yeah… yeah, I know it's you… " he asked, totally unenthused. "Make it quick, I was in the shower… ."

Then the caller began to launch into his story. At first Jim was skeptical – maybe in some bizarre Amish calendar today was April Fool's, Jim thought, but even if it wasn't, why would he believe anything the other guy said? But there was an urgency in his voice that seemed real and it was something Jim didn't think anyone would joke about, at least not if they knew the story, which was obviously the case this time.

"Are you serious?" Jim asked. He got his reply, and with a quick thanks and the addition of 'I might not be at work today', Jim slammed the phone back on the cradle, checked his watch, and quickly hopped back into the shower to finish what he'd started before bolting – shoes in hand, jeans unbuttoned, dress shirt flapping loosely over his undershirt – to his car and speeding off towards the interstate.

--

Dwight set his alarm to go off extra early that morning so he could set his plan in motion. He had, at first, hated to admit that he actually cared about the lanky salesman with whom he shared a workspace. It was easier to admit that he liked Pam, but that was mostly because she was a fine female specimen and Dwight admired that much about her already. But the more he saw them together, and the more depressed Jim got when she was gone, the more he realized that he was secretly pulling for them to make it. His own upset over losing Angela to Andy was, for the first time in months, secondary in his mind to the current goal. Strange and unwelcome a thought as it was, he just wanted the old Jim back.

It helped that, in the process, he would most certainly go down in the annals of Dunder Mifflin Scranton for orchestrating the best prank in branch history. That made him smile.

So even though Dwight was groggy and spent five minutes reconsidering his act of kindness – which he affectionately termed the "swift kick in the ass they both need" on his blog – the thought that he would almost certainly be able to pull one over on Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly in one fell swoop made the task of getting out of bed and over to his telephone that much easier. After clearing the sleep from his voice and practicing a scared and urgent inflection, Dwight picked up the phone and began to dial.

"May I speak to Jim please? Jim, it's Dwight! There's something you need to know! It's about Pam!"

When he was done, Dwight thought he should seriously be nominated for an Oscar for acting. Feeling pleased, he began to ready himself for work.


	25. Do You Want Me Like I Want You?

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the Jewel song "Standing Still". Enjoy!!**

* * *

Pam felt her foot like lead on the accelerator as she sped down the highway. As her car merged with i-81N, she could hear her heart pounding in her ears and had to squeeze the steering wheel until her knuckles were white to keep them from shaking. Her entire body vibrated; she was in no condition to drive like this, but as she flew past the highway signage, her thoughts were centered and focused on one thing – getting to the church in Pottsville ("What the hell is in Pottsville?" she'd ask herself out loud more than once on the hour-long drive to the small town she'd only ever seen as a dot on the map, almost exactly halfway between Scranton and Harrisburg).

The sun was lightening the sky in the east; it was just past 7:00. Pam remembered her painting, the one she'd been making for Jim and which was sitting behind her television at home as she spoke, and felt herself starting to cry for the hundredth time in the twenty minutes she'd been behind the wheel. She had been stupid. She had left Jim to figure herself out and had left him hanging for too long. What had she honestly expected? Her actions had been meant to help solve their problems; instead, she had driven him into the arms of another woman. And it had been her fault! If only she'd explained, telephoned… something, _anything_ would have been better than leaving their relationship to fate!

Now, she was paying for it. She floored it, watching as the city gave way to suburbs and then to open fields and rolling hills. No matter how fast she drove, she couldn't go fast enough; Pam felt as if she were the one encased in Jell-O instead of Dwight's stapler. It made her think of Jim, and she cried again.

Eventually, she saw her exit. She slowed down enough to take the ramp safely and pulled off the interstate, eventually finding herself on the narrow and cozy streets of a town that could have been any town in America, but which was all the more important because it was the town in which Jim had decided to marry Karen. Pam had no idea why – perhaps Karen had family there. Maybe Jim did. There was a lot she didn't know about him, she realized. _But I would have learned_.

She had an address – Dwight had provided that over the phone – and as she scanned street signs and examined landmarks, she felt more tears, realizing that time was ticking and she wasn't any closer to finding her way. She briefly considered calling Dwight and begging him to help her find it, and as she struggled to compose herself for the phone call, she saw a spire rising high above the tree tops, impossibly white in the early morning sun. She rubbed her eyes and brushed the tears away and turned onto the street towards the church.

--

"Come on… _COME ON!_" Jim hollered, even though he knew it would make no difference, that it wouldn't part the shining silver sea of car rooftops in front of him, glimmering in the early morning sunshine. It was quarter to seven, the sun wasn't even up yet, and there was a water main break which was causing traffic to back up way longer than normal. He scanned the side roads up ahead, looking for somewhere to turn, some other way to get to the i-81.

He tapped his long, impatient fingers on the steering wheel, focusing his eyes on the license plate of the car in front of him until his vision blurred and he realized he was crying. He blinked tears away and slowly depressed the accelerator to inch the car forward a few car lengths before he had to stop again.

"And who is she marrying anyway?!" he cried at the windshield. The woman in the car next to him avoided his eyes when he glanced over at her. An embarrassed Jim sank a little lower in his seat and continued to wait himself into insanity.

Dwight's call had sent him into a panic. He knew he had messed up, but he didn't think it would be enough to make Pam think of marrying someone else. His stomach churned; he'd forgotten to eat breakfast. But he couldn't think of anything else except getting to the church and stopping the proceedings. Even if he couldn't convince her, Jim knew he hadn't done enough, hadn't tried, and he had to pull all the stops now to show her that it was real, that he was ready, that she was the one. If she still chose someone else over him, there wasn't much he could do – it wouldn't have been the first time he would let her go – but at least he would have known that he'd done all he could on that day.

Pottsville. _What the hell is in Pottsville? _Jim wondered. So many things did not make sense; he hoped Dwight was wrong, that he'd gotten his information mixed up. He couldn't imagine the Pam he knew eloping with out warning with her pre-Roy high school boyfriend. Jim had heard all about the guy, was well aware that he was Pam's first love. But as far she'd told him, Pam hadn't seen the guy since that impromptu five year reunion a few years ago when she'd gone to Atlantic City for the weekend with half her graduating class and Michael thought she'd quit and had started looking for her replacement. That was already almost five years ago. Pam was so… sensible. So thorough. It didn't make sense.

_Maybe that's why she hasn't called… _Jim thought ruefully. It wasn't _impossible_. Highly improbable, but not impossible.

But Jim wasn't leaving anything to chance. Even if he was wildly off base, he had to go. Enough was enough. He would go to Pottsville, and he would find the church, and he'd make more noise and create a bigger commotion than even Ben Braddock could handle. Because it was Pam, and he'd been a fool, and she needed to know that if nothing else. Only a small part of him cared that it was her wedding day; the rest of him wanted to desperately believe that she couldn't honestly marry anyone else but him.

Finally, he spotted a stretch of open road up ahead, signaling that the construction zone was ending. It wouldn't be long, he knew, and he'd be on the highway, jetting through townships and entire counties, flying across the space and distance separating them. It wouldn't be long, but it couldn't be fast enough.

--

Pam parked her car in front of the church, glancing at her clock, which blinked out 8:00. She'd made it to the church – it was the right one, she knew – but she wondered if she'd made it on time. No cars in the parking lot, no people on the steps. Perhaps they hadn't invited anyone, but when Dwight had said it was going to be a quick ceremony, Pam still imagined that there would be guests. She let herself imagine for a scant second that either Dwight was horribly mistaken, or that maybe she had beat them there and she could still stop this thing from happening. It was the weirdest wedding she would ever attend – she'd never heard of a pastor agreeing to marry a couple before breakfast on a Wednesday! – but Dwight said it was important that they did it right away. Maybe that's what Jim needed to tell her: he was marrying Karen because she was pregnant. Pam knew she was torturing herself, and more unself-conscious tears streamed down her cheeks as her stomach fell out and she wished she hadn't been so stupid.

Pam rested her head against the cool leather of the steering wheel and sobbed. She waited, for a sign that someone was there, or for Jim and Karen to pull up outside the church, smiling and happy… _Stop it, _she ordered herself. _You're not making this easier! _She had begun to panic, worried that she'd missed them, and decided to step out of her car and run up the steps and into the church, because then at least she'd _know_.

She realized she was wearing the dress. The yellow one, from Halifax. It had been an accident, a coincidence, since this was the dress she had worn the day before when she'd gone out for lunch with her mom and it was the first thing she had found on the chair by the bed when she ran out that morning. She smoothed it out against her legs and cursed her winter weight for making her belly stick out just a little more than it had when she first wore the dress. It still looked good; she wondered if Jim would notice.

_Not if he's standing next to his pregnant wife_, she said. She wanted to kick her own ass; what if it was too late?

She locked the door and ran across the tree-lined street and up across the lawn in front of the church. The doors were open, and she stepped inside, shivering because she forgot a jacket and it was only April, after all.

No one met her at the door. There were no crowds, no people. No happy, smiling newlyweds or a bemused pastor. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. _Where are all the people? Where's the bride? Where's Jim?_

She heard the sound of a vacuum running, and she followed it into the nave. A cleaning lady in a blue apron stood bent over the carpet running up the center aisle, pushing a grey vacuum over and over the worn floor covering. Pam thought it was strange, somewhat anachronistic or something, to see such a modern object in such a beautiful and historic place. The vaulted ceiling reached up above her head, and stained glass windows lined the walls. From behind her, the sunlight shone in and illuminated the pews in bright blues and purples and yellows. She choked back a sob as she thought about a wedding – any wedding – taking place in such a beautiful setting.

"Excuse me, miss?" the lady startled her as she yelled over the hum of the vacuum. "Can I help you?"

Pam nodded. "Can you tell me… is there a wedding here today?"

The woman flicked off the vacuum and indicated that she hadn't heard the question. Pam repeated it, and the other woman just stood there, smiling warmly, "Today is Wednesday, dear."

"I know that," Pam nodded briskly, "But is there a wedding today?"

"Not that I am aware of," the woman said.

"This has to be the right church…," Pam muttered. "Are there any other churches on this street?"

"We're the only one," the woman replied. "Are you okay?"

Pam nodded, but she knew she was lying. _No wedding… what in the hell…? _The woman was still smiling. "Stay as long as you'd like. I won't bother you."

And with that, she picked up her vacuum and left out the same door through which Pam had entered. Pam sank into the pew at the back, her eyes moist. _Does nothing make sense anymore?_ She thought as she rested her head against her folded arms on the back of the pew in front of her. _All I wanted was to see him… ._

No more than five minutes passed before she stood up and wiped her eyes, resolving to wait until she heard from Jim, or Dwight, or something happened to make her leave. With great weariness, Pam turned on the heel of her little white sneakers and walked back out of the nave, into the foyer, and out onto the step where she felt the rays of the sun falling upon her exposed shoulders like warmed butter, dripping down her arms. She had made Jim wait; now it was her turn.

--

Jim arrived in Pottsville in record time, slamming on the brakes as he entered town limits where the speed limit dropped dramatically. Still, he cruised along ten miles over the speed limit when there were no cars around. He had to get to Pam. He ran over again what he was going to say to her when he saw her.

Dwight's directions reverberated in his head. "Turn right at the second stop sign" or "Take the first left after the gnarled oak tree in front of the post office". Or something like that. He really didn't know what Dwight had said for directions, but he could hear his voice rattling off commands like an army drill sergeant as he drove the tree-lined streets with the church address in hand. The car was stiflingly hot; he rolled his window down, enjoying the crisp April morning air as it prickled his skin and made his breath catch in his throat.

He caught a glimpse of the church steeple rising above the green trees up ahead of him. _That must be it_, he said, torn between speeding towards the parking lot or slowing down to avoid the parked cars on either side of him.

In the end, he pulled off the road and watched the church through the windows of his idling car. He was struck by the lack of fanfare – surely they had invited guests. The terrifying thought that he might be late struck him and he glanced at his clock. Dwight had said the ceremony would be early, before 9. It was 8:10 am. People would be starting to show up; as Jim exited his car, he practiced his speech. _I'm yours, Pam, body and soul… I made mistakes, but I'm human, and I'll beg for forgiveness and I'll wait forever to get you back… it won't be easy, but nothing ever really is… if you have to marry him, then fine, I won't stand in your way but I won't pretend that it's okay because I was a fool and I let you walk out of my life, and I'll regret it until the day I die… Why? Because I'm the man who loves you… I always have been… ._

He felt tears, again, and looked up to blink them away. That's when he saw it, a flash of yellow through blurred half-closed eyelids. There was someone standing on the church steps. He blinked his disbelieving eyes. The figure sat down on the stone steps and rested her head on her knees. He knew it was a her because he would have known Her anywhere. There was no one else around; he gave himself space to hope for a second that maybe he was wrong, that Dwight was wrong, and wondered if he could be that lucky.

He sped up, half-running, half-walking the strides in between the sidewalk and where she perched, stopping a few feet away because she had lifted her head and he wanted her to see him. He stood on the level ground, looking at her at eye-level because he was so tall. She was crying, tiny sobs that wracked her body and made her shoulders shiver. Jim wasn't immune; he felt a lump in his throat, too.

When her eyes met his, he tried to smile but his tears broke out of their cages and spilled down his cheeks, so he cast his eyes down so she wouldn't see and brought a hand up to brush the evidence away. He was aware of her standing up, could hear the rustle of her dress, the one he'd bought for her, so long ago. Then he felt her fingertips resting on his wrist, warm despite the cold, and he thanked the sun for its warmth. She slipped her hand into his – her left hand, unadorned and blissfully naked, with no ring to cloud his judgment and break his heart – and she squeezed, and he knew. He just knew.


	26. Love Turns the Whole Thing Around

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the John Mayer song "The Heart of Life". **

**This story is in constant revision, and I think when it's all done, I'll probably re-write a lot of it and maybe I'll repost it all at some point in the future. Anyway, I wanted this chapter to have a bit of a leisurely pace to it (with some playful moments too), but I'm afraid I haven't done that. It's not awful and I've edited it to the best of my ability right now, which is why I'm posting. But I'm also trusting that your keen eyes will catch anything that doesn't work and that you'll let me know so I can revise it. Like a mass beta-read... or something... .**

**One chapter to go...**

* * *

"Pam, I--."

"Ssh, Jim, don't say anything," Pam whispered.

Jim's voice cracked. "But I can't… I'm so sorry Pam… I've been such a fool and I know I probably don't deserve you after all of this, but you _can't _get married today unless you're marrying _me_."

Pam looked up at him, a confused expression painting her face. "I'm not getting married. _You're _getting married."

"Who said I was getting married?"

"Dwight. He called me this morning and told me to hurry to this church because you were going to marry Karen."

"Dwight called you?" Jim asked, "Dwight called me too… told me you were marrying some ex-boyfriend from high school who you reconnected with or something." He studied her, "You mean you're not?"

She shook her head, letting out a shuddering breath. "Shit," she choked, bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth and gripping Jim's arm for support. "I'm gonna kill him… ."

Jim smiled, recognizing the situation for what it was, and felt something like pride towards his co-worker for managing to pull off the prank of the century. Maybe the man did care after all… . "Pam," he started, softly, "You have to admit – he did well. He really had us going."

She was crying, fully and openly, as she held onto Jim's arm. "I really thought I'd lost you. I don't think I've driven this fast in my entire life." Her voice was so soft as it floated to Jim's ears and he realized this was the first time he'd heard her voice in over a month. And then she was looking down again, shoulders shaking.

Jim brought one hand to her chin, lifting it to she was looking into his eyes. "Hey. Pam, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"What are you talking about? I'm the one who needs to apologize."

"I pushed you away."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I made some awful accusations. I should have listened to you. I should have _believed _you. I should never have let my jealousies about Karen cloud my judgment where it came to you and... ."

"Pam, I don't blame you. I was a complete and total jerk."

Pam closed her half-open mouth, then smiled a little. "Well... yeah, you were."

Jim didn't feel like laughing, but he managed a smile before his face fell again. "Pam, you don't understand. When I heard you were getting married, I almost fell apart. I've lost you so many times -- I lost you before I had you, at the casino fundraiser, and I lost you when I did have you, when I left your house that night. Here I was losing you all over, for good," he gripped both her hands now, not wanting to let her go. "I made so many mistakes, Pam… I can't even begin to apologize."

Pam was still crying. "Maybe you can start by explaining why you stopped trusting me." Her eyes shone with tears. "That really hurt, Jim... ."

Jim looked down, "I didn't _not _trust you. I got scared. I finally had you, after years of wanting you, but I had built the idea of 'us' up into something that I didn't think we could live up to. I started to doubt it all, I guess. Then Karen started talking to me again and… I really had no idea what to think when Roy was at your house… I jumped to some major conclusions and they were totally wrong."

"I wish you could have talked to me about it," Pam said.

"I wish I had, too," Jim shrugged.

A pause. Jim waited with suspended breath.

Finally: "What about Karen?"

Jim exhaled, remembering the night before, how Karen had left his apartment. _I'm sorry if I ruined things_. "She didn't mean anything by any of this." He paused, running his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "Karen thought we could recapture what we had, and it took me too long to realize that's what she was after. I should have figured it out, and I should have set things straight a long time ago. But she was wrong too, about the two of us. There was no future there." He recalled the look on her face as she left his apartment, after she'd seen the engagement ring he'd bought for Pam. "She knows now, without a doubt, how I feel about you."

Pam nodded, and as she did, a tear fell from her eye onto Jim's hand in front of her. "Well, I guess everyone just wants a piece of you, huh?" she was smiling, "How does it feel to be so desired?"

Jim grinned, marvelling at how such a woman – the kind who could smile when she was crying and make him smile with her – could have picked _him_.

Pam stepped forward. "But it's over now," she returned after a moment's silence. She slipped her arms under his and nestled her head against his chest. Jim had forgotten, too, how wonderful it felt to hold her like that. He kissed her hair and rested his lips against her temple as he wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," she said, "Well… it's not okay. I mean, this month has knocked years off my lifespan, you know."

"I'll make it up to you."

"You bet you will."

He knew that, despite the joking tone of her voice, he had a lot of ground to cover. He wouldn't have blamed her if she didn't trust him fully for a long time. And as the warmth of her body bled through his shirt and felt his heart synching with hers, he knew he would do whatever it took. A hundred miles, weeks of hardship (that he knew he had brought on himself), and Dwight Schrute brought them to where they needed to be, which was where they were all along if only he'd been able to see it for what it was. Pam had known; now he was finally fully aware, and couldn't have been more ready to be everything he knew he should have been from the start.

"I still can't believe we fell for it," Pam said against Jim's chest with a chuckle.

"He got me good yesterday," Jim said.

"How?" she turned her face to look up at him.

Jim rolled his eyes and began to blush. "Err… it's a long story, and it's not one I want to get into."

"Come on, Halpert. Spill it!"

He had begun walking down the steps away from her, and he shrugged his shoulders in her direction, "Sorry. Can't do it." He turned around and began to walk away.

She caught up to him, linking her arm through his and laughing as she snared him. "Jim, you can't leave me hanging like this!" The combination of her laughter and the ecstasy of the entire moment gave Jim pause. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand and run away where they could be together and just love each other forever without worry.

The sun ducked behind a cloud; Jim could feel Pam shivering against him. "Why didn't you bring a coat?" he scolded.

"When you're rushing out of the house on a mission to break up your boyfriend's wedding to another woman, you don't really think about the weather," Pam replied.

"Touché," Jim laughed, "Do you want my coat? It's in the car."

"Why aren't you wearing it?"

He smiled. "I don't need it."

She shook her head as they made their way across the street, "What are we going to do now? My stuff is still at my mother's house."

"I took the day off," Jim said, "Dwight will surely understand."

Pam seethed, "I could kill him! You know one of us could have crashed on our way here? Did he think of that?"

"I'm sure he rationalized it in some way," Jim replied, opening his car door and grabbing his coat from the passenger seat, where he'd tossed it when he'd gotten in, and handing it to Pam. She slipped it on and wrapped it around herself, shoving her hands in the pockets and jumping up and down to warm up. "Look, I didn't eat breakfast in my hurry to break up _your _imaginary wedding, so why don't we find some diner in town and have a nice breakfast together before we decide anything… ."

Pam wasn't listening. Her face had frozen, her hands shoved deep into the pockets, and she stood still in the middle of the road.

"Pam?"

She looked down at her left hand and she slowly brought it out of the pocket. Clasped inside her fist was a small black velvet box. Jim gulped. _How did that get there?_ He didn't remember putting it in his pocket; he didn't even remember having it with him when he left the house. So how in the hell did it end up in the pocket of his coat?

Her hands shook as she turned the box around so she could open it. She lifted her twinkling eyes to Jim's; only the pads of her fingers touched the outside of the box.

"Jim?" her voice trembled.

"This isn't how I wanted this to go," he said, mostly to himself, under his breath. But he looked around him, and realized that after all they'd gone through to get to one another that morning, there really wasn't a better time. He shrugged, laughed out loud, and became truly amazed at how things had turned out. "Come on, Beesly. You know you want to open it."

So she did. And she smiled. It was all the answer he needed.


	27. When You Say Nothing At All

**A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the song "When You Say Nothing At All" by Ronan Keating. This is it folks -- the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks!! :)**

* * *

Jim proposed without words, but that was okay with Pam. Their whole relationship had been based on a model of non-communication that seemed to always wind its way back to them again whether they said what they meant or meant what they said or said nothing or everything or something in between. Without a real conversation, and within a few short weeks, Jim moved into Pam's much larger half duplex; his things slowly began to accumulate – on counters, in cupboards, on the floor, in her washing machine – and when his lease came up for renewal, he politely declined to renew and took his refunded damage deposit and he and Pam made their first joint purchase, a flat screen LCD TV, of which Michael was insanely jealous, they could tell.

On the wall in their living room – it took a long time to get used to calling it "theirs" – Pam installed a narrow shelf on which she had planned to set some of the art she had been creating, but which ended up holding their memories.

Next to a few of their many Dundies and their slightly battered looking collection of yogurt lid Office Olympics medals – Kelly called it tacky that they had mixed the gold-colouring of the statues with the silver lids and paperclip strands, and always mentioned it whenever she came over – Pam really wanted to display a certain teapot that she thought was too pretty to use, which her best friend had given her one Christmas in a largely ignored attempt to show her how much she was loved. It was a tough item to explain; when asked about it, Jim and Pam would usually just smile at each other and say they liked the way it looked.

Above the shelf hung a large canvas painted in splashes of subdued blues and marvellous pinks, purples, and oranges, which Jim had put up without telling Pam and which he wouldn't let her take down. "An impressionist masterpiece of the post-modern era", Jim said, trying to sound smart even though he didn't know what it meant. He just liked the way it looked, knowing that it was a scene _he'd_ composed for _her_, with the grainy and pixellated camera on his cell phone one frosty September morning when he'd thought he'd lost her. A scene that she had committed to canvas. It was his treasure.

On either side of the canvas, Pam insisted on displaying 5x7 pictures of random people on the streets of a maritime city they'd once visited; she'd had the photos developed in black and white, and bought matching frames to show them off in, and she saved up a little money to buy some track lighting that really showcased them, and Jim thought it made their living room look like an art gallery, something he liked very much. That day in Halifax, and all the memories contained therein, had been borne out of a forced separation. It was the first time Jim could remember feeling that they were different, because so much love and connection and beautiful things could arise when nothing was said at all.

Just off to the side, however, on the shelf below, Pam had set up a beautiful, handmade seashell picture frame, from a time when miscommunication – or, to be more precise, the general lack of communication that characterized so much about the two of them – led to Jim's return to Scranton still believing his best friend had married someone else bearing wedding gifts for a wedding that hadn't occurred because of him. In the frame was a photo Pam's mom had taken on the day Jim didn't propose to Pam, when they'd driven well over the speed limit of the highway that brought them together, and then drove in their separate vehicles – gas prices be damned – at relatively human speeds to deliver the news to Pam's family in Harrisburg. The picture frame, and the photo within, was their reminder that, as wonderful as it could be to communicate without words, the results could be less than favourable, and so wherever possible, it was a good idea to talk.

The office was well aware and generally supportive of Jim and Pam: Angela was the only one with a negative view of the "living in sin", as she termed it. But it only lasted a week, after which she was suspiciously quiet on the whole subject, leading to speculation that she and Dwight had finally reinstated their affair and that they were co-habiting in Casa del Schrute. That, and there was a new woman coming to meet Andy at the office every night; it didn't take much of an imagination to figure it all out.

The wedding took place on a Friday, to save money, during a mild July heat wave. It was a small, simple affair held under a white canopy and the guests enjoyed themselves, or so it could be presumed from the photos Michael added to his Facebook page the following day. There was no particular style or theme – they just set up a CD player and borrowed a PA system from the high school band teacher, and brought an iPod pre-loaded with songs to play for the ceremony and the dance, and let it happen. It seemed to work well.

Dwight's casual indifference to Jim and Pam resumed almost the minute they arrived back to announce their engagement. Still, when they asked him to carry the rings down the aisle and give a speech at the wedding, he accepted. And before the ceremony began, Jim saw Dwight very carefully arranging the rings on the silk pillow on a bench away from the other guests. He had to smile at that.

They said their "I Do's" – each adding an "Absolutely" to the time-tested phrase, a private joke that they were glad nobody else understood – but kept their vows simple. And when they danced their first dance under the twinkling canopy lights, they said little. Over the course of the evening, as they were pulled in different directions by the needs of their guests, they would smile across the floor at each other, comforted in the knowledge that this was one night – a beautiful night, but one night nonetheless – and it wasn't worth it to sweat the small stuff. It made the private, quiet, shared moments they did have that much better, when words would have taken too much time and all they wanted was to _feel_.

Words had their place – Dwight's speech was short but inspired and thankfully used nothing from the handbook of Benito Mussolini in its execution; Kelly was surprisingly succinct, but it was probably owing to the fact that she couldn't stop crying long enough to form a full sentence; Michael was Michael, and his jokes were ill-timed and a little awkward, but everyone saw that his heart was in the right place and nobody could fault him for that. But it was an open mic so they couldn't really take it away either. Pam's mom cried through her speech, and Jim's mom cried more, and both fathers had to help their wives down from the podium before something shorted out and caused an electrical fire.

And when it was all over, and Jim opened the lock on their honeymoon suite and carried Pam inside, they turned to each other, smiles lighting up their faces, and each was sure the other was thinking about the path that had led them there, to that very moment.

"Hello, Mr. Halpert," Pam smiled.

"Hello, Mrs. Halpert," Jim was grinning.

In a relationship characterized by words unspoken or words spoken poorly or at the wrong time and many words regretted in the light of day for being spoken or for being silenced, what was said that evening in the soft light of Scranton's best suite were six of the best words ever uttered from their mouths. Sealed with a kiss, Jim and Pam swayed for a while before going to bed for the first time as a married couple, with little more than those six words and a few of Pam's hairpins between them. Communication is key – they knew that better than anyone – but sometimes it's just better when nothing is said at all.


End file.
